TEAN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 

EDWIN  CORLE 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

LOS  ANGELE: 

OF  CALIFORN 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSI 

THE  LIBRARY 

THE 
VERMILION  BOX 

E.  V.  LUCAS 


BY     E.    V.    LUCAS 

More  Wanderings  in  London 

Cloud  and  Silver 

The  Vermilion  Box    . 

The  Hausfrau  Rampant 

Landmarks 

Listener's  Lure 

Mr.  Ingleside 

Over  Bemerton's 

Loiterer's  Harvest 

One  Day  and  Another 

Fireside  and  Sunshine 

Character  and  Comedy 

Old  Lamps  for  New 

The  Hambledon  Men 

The  Open  Road 

The  Friendly  Town 

Her  Infinite  Variety — 

Good  Company — 

The  Gentlest  Art 

The  Second  Post 

A  Little  of  Everything 

Harvest  Home 

Variety  Lane 

The  Best  of  Lamb 

The  Life  of  Charles  Lamb 

A  Swan  and  Her  Friends 

A  Wanderer  in  Venice 

A  Wanderer  in  Paris 

A  Wanderer  in  London 

A  Wanderer  in  Holland 

A  Wanderer  in  Florence 

Highways  and  Byways  in  Sussex 

Anne's  Terrible  Good  Nature 

The  Slowcoach 

and 
The  Pocket  Edition  of  the  Works  of 

Charles  Lamb:  I.  Miscellaneous  Prose; 

ii.  Elia;     in.    Children's    Books;    iv. 

Poems  and  Plays;  v.  and  vi.  Letters. 


THE 

VERMILION 
BOX 


BY 

E.  V.   LUCAS 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1916, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


College 
Library 


In  memory  of 
P.  D.  L. 

who  was  wounded  at  Fricourt 

on  July  i,  1916,  and  died  at 

Abbeville  on  July  6 


IS 

• 


TO  THE  READER 


THE  letters  in  this  book,  which  throw  some 
light  on  social  England  under  the  war,  were 
written  between  the  latter  part  of  1914  and  1916. 
I  have  selected  only  the  more  significant  ones  for 
publication. 

Most  of  the  correspondents  are  related  to  each 
other. 

Mr.  Richard  Haven,  who  writes  oftenest,  is  to- 
day (1916)  a  bachelor  on  the  brink  of  fifty.  He 
has  a  share  in  a  conveyancing  practice  in  Bedford 
Row  and  lives  in  that  little  creek  at  Knightsbridge 
called  Mills  Buildings. 

Old  Mrs.  Haven,  his  mother,  lives  at  Ayles- 
bury,  with  her  granddaughter,  Anne  Wiston,  as 
companion.  Mrs.  Haven's  four  daughters,  who 
are  all  married,  are  Kate,  Joan,  Helen,  and  Mar- 
garet. 

Kate  Haven  married  George  Wiston,  a  coun- 
[vii] 


TO     THE      READER 

try  brewer,  much  older  than  herself,  who  retired 
in  1912.  Their  children  are  Anne,  born  in  1890, 
and  Olive,  born  in  1893.  Olive  became  engaged 
to  her  cousin,  Dick  Bernal,  in  June,  1914.  The 
Wistons  live  at  Chislehurst. 

George  Wiston's  sister  Maude,  now  a  widow, 
married  a  barrister  named  Clayton-Mills.  They 
had  a  son,  Archibald,  born  in  1884,  who  became 
an  artist. 

The  second  Miss  Haven,  Joan,  married  Theo- 
dore Lastways,  of  Pember  &  Lastways,  stock- 
brokers, who  died  in  1909,  leaving  her  very  com- 
fortably off.  They  had  one  daughter,  Violet,  born 
in  1892,  and  one  son,  John,  bora  in  1898.  Mrs. 
Lastways  lives  at  Lancaster  Gate. 

Helen  Haven  married  a  soldier,  now  Lieut.- 
Col.  Sir  Vincent  Starr,  who  is  on  the  Staff.  They 
had  one  son,  Toby,  born  in  1895.  Lady  Starr 
lives  near  Shoreham  in  Kent. 

Margaret  Haven  married  Digby  Bernal  of  the 
Record  Office.  Dick,  their  only  son,  was  in  the 
regular  Army  when  the  war  broke  out.  Nancy, 
their  only  daughter,  was  born  in  1894.  They  live 
on  Campden  Hill. 

Digby  Bernal's  sister  Ruth  married  in  1904  a 
[viii] 


TO     THE      READER 

young  cavalry  officer  named  Terence  Derrick. 
They  have  two  children,  Bimbo  and  Teenie. 
Their  home  is  at  Minchinhampton. 

Of  the  other  oeople  who  write  or  receive 
letters — 

Dr.  Sutherland  is  an  old  friend  of  Richard 
Haven  and  is  now  a  Unitarian  minister  in 
Brooklyn. 

Barclay  Vaughan  is  another  old  friend  of 
Richard  Haven  and  is  now  a  Professor  at 
Edinburgh. 

Mrs.  Park-Stanmer,  the  wife  of  a  commanding 
officer  stationed  at  Sandwich,  was  at  school  with 
Lady  Starr. 

Miss  Hermione  Huntresse  was  at  school  with 
Nancy  Bernal. 

Jerry  Harding  is  the  son  of  a  Northumberland 
J.P.  and  a  friend  of  Toby  Starr. 

E.  V.  L. 


[ix] 


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LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — This  war  will  be  a 
great  breaker-up  of  families.  Mine  has 
gone  already,  for  Vincent  left  for  France,  where 
he  has  a  staff  appointment,  yesterday,  and  Toby 
succeeded  in  finding  a  recruiting  doctor  to  pass 
him  to-day.  I  am  really  very  proud  of  him,  for 
he  has  refused  to  be  deterred.  The  first  three  doc- 
tors all  rejected  him  on  account  of  his  sight;  but 
he  stuck  to  it,  and  to-day  chanced,  somewhere  in 
Westminster,  on  a  less  exacting  official  and  got 
through.  He  has  not  the  big-game  motive  at  all, 
but  really  wants  to  do  his  duty  by  his  country. 
Oh  dear!  what  a  time  is  ahead  for  wives  and 
mothers.  My  only  Toby  too!  As  Vincent  said 

[13] 


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to  me  yesterday,  "We  should  have  had  hundreds 
of  children,  my  dear." 

So  now  I  must  fling  myself  into  Belgians  and 
knitting  and  hope  for  the  best. — Your  loving 

HELEN 


II 
MRS.  HAVEN  TO  HER  GRANDSON,  TOBY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  TOBY, — I  am  greatly  disappointed 
not  to  have  had  a  visit  from  you,  but  I  suppose 
you  have  had  no  time.  I  never  thought  to  see  a 
grandson  of  mine  killing  his  fellow-men,  and  I 
think  about  it  with  grief  day  and  night,  but  I  am 
not  going  to  trouble  you  with  my  perplexities; 
although  I  can't  help  saying  that  several  Germans 
that  I  have  known  were  quite  harmless  people,  and 
Fraulein  Schmidt,  who  taught  your  mother  and 
her  sisters  German,  often  volunteered  of  her  own 
free  will  to  help  with  the  flowers,  etc.,  when  we 
had  visitors.  And  Mendelssohn's  music,  too,  so 
sweet  and  serious!  Why  the  Germans  should 
have  changed  so,  I  can't  think;  but  nothing  is  as 


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it  was,  and  it  is  more  than  time  for  us  old  folks 
to  die. 

Having  asked  several  persons  what  is  the  best 
present  for  a  young  officer,  and  getting  the  same 
reply  from  all,  I  am  sending  you  a  periscope ;  and 
I  hope  you  will  make  a  point  of  always  shooting 
through  it.  I  also  enclose  a  small  cheque  for 
anything  else  you  may  be  wanting.  God  bless 
you,  my  dear  boy. — Your  affectionate,  puzzled 
old 

GRANNY 


III 

JOHN  LASTWAYS,  AT  SCHOOL,  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  am  writing  to  say  that 
you  simply  must  let  me  enlist.  Several  fellows 
younger  than  me  have  not  come  back  this  term 
but  have  gone  into  the  Public  Schools  Battalion, 
and  I  am  bigger  and  look  older  than  any  of 
them;  and  you  should  just  see  my  moustaches 
which  I  have  been  rubbing  stuff  on  every  night. 
I  was  told  about  it  by  Crosbie  and  wrote  for  a 

[15] 


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pot.  It's  called  Depilator  and  makes  the  hair 
grow  like  blazes.  Another  thing  is  that  I  am 
stronger  than  Toby.  One  night  I  wrestled  with 
him  and  threw  him  twice.  If  you  say  yes  I  shall 
go  to  the  recruiting  place  at  once  and  say  I  am 
eighteen.  I  enclose  a  telegraph  form  for  your 
reply. — Your  loving  son  JOHN 

IV 

MRS.  LAST  WAYS  TO  JOHN  LAST  WAYS 

[Telegram] 
Certainly  not.    Writing.  MOTHER 

V 
MRS.  LASTWAYS  TO  JOHN  LASTWAYS 

MY  DEAR  JOHN, — Your  letter  distressed  me 
extremely,  for  it  shows  not  only  that  you  did  not 
listen  to  the  many  things  that  I  said  to  you  on 
this  question,  but  also  that  you  have  a  very  wrong 

[16] 


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idea  of  the  importance  of  truth.  War  is  very 
terrible  and  wicked;  but  it  would  become  more 
so  if  we  entered  upon  it  with  a  falsehood;  and 
we  English  must  be  more  than  ever  careful  after 
the  way  the  Germans  repudiated  their  treaty  with 
Belgium.  I  think  also  you  might  try  and  put 
yourself  in  my  place  for  a  moment.  You  are  my 
only  son;  that  is  to  say,  the  only  man  I  have  to 
lean  on.  If  you  were  old  enough  I  should  have 
to  let  you  go;  but  until  you  are  old  enough  I 
hope  you  will  stand  by  me.  We  may,  God 
knows,  need  each  other's  comfort  only  too  deeply. 
— Your  loving  MOTHER 


VI 


VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  HER  COUSIN,  OLIVE 
WISTON 

DEAR  OLIVE, — It  was  very  exciting  here  yes- 
terday. Toby  is  staying  with  us  before  he  g6es 
into  training,  and  yesterday  his  uniform  came 
home,  and  we  all  helped  him  to  try  it  on.  He 
really  looks  very  handsome  in  it,  and  when  he 

[17] 


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has  learnt  what  to  do  with  his  hands  he  will  be 
quite  natural.  We  wanted  him  to  let  us  go  out 
with  him,  but  he  was  too  shy ;  and  so  we  watched 
him  through  the  blinds  as  he  crossed  the  street 
with  his  absurd  stick.  Some  of  them  have  dog 
whips,  but  his  is  a  cane.  It  would  be  a  wicked 
lie  to  say  that  he  did  not  look  self-conscious,  poor 
boy,  but  then  how  could  he  help  it? 

Tell  me  where  Dick  is,  and  also  if  you  have 
any  plan  of  work  during  the  war.  I  am  medi- 
tating nursing.  We  might  do  something  together. 
— Yours,  Vi. 

VII 

PETER  RAGGETT  TO  His  FRIEND,  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  OLD  SPORT, — We  had  a  little  dinner  last 
night  to  drink  your  health.  In  barley  water,  I 
don't  think.  Jack  was  there,  and  the  Goat,  and 
old  Hoskins,  and  Jumbo,  and  me ;  and  we  thought 
we  should  like  to  give  you  some  old  thing  to 
remind  you  of  us  and  be  a  bit  of  use  in  helping 
you  both  to  save  your  own  life  and  remove  that 
of  as  many  Huns  as  Heaven  may  send  your  way. 

[18] 


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Not  that  we  are  all  so  jolly  flush — don't  think 
that,  I  pray  you.  But  you  can  tell  that  from  the 
article  itself,  which  is  not  precisely  a  pair  of 
radium  dumb-bells.  Anyway  it  accompanies  this 
letter  and  is  the  best  kind  of  periscope  I  could 
find  at  the  Stores;  and  we  all  wish  you  the  best 
of  luck  and  a  big  bag  of  Fritzes  and  Carls,  and 
we  wish  we  had  your  luck  in  getting  a  commis- 
sion so  soon.  However,  a  time  will  come!  So 
long ! — Yours,  PETER 

VIII 

FROM  THE  PERSONAL  COLUMN 

LONELY  SUBALTERN  would  much  appreciate 
correspondence.    Box  06. 

IX 

FROM  THE  SAME  COLUMN 

SUBALTERN  in  uncongenial  surroundings  would 
be  grateful  for  letters.    Box  27. 

[19] 


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X 

TOBY  STARR  TO  His  MOTHER,  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — If  you  see  two  advertise- 
ments in  the  Times  from  lonely  subs  asking  for 
letters  they  belong  to  Jerry  and  me.  We  had  a 
little  dinner  at  the  Piccadilly  Grill  to  celebrate 
our  commissions,  and  while  we  were  talking  he 
had  the  idea  that  it  would  be  a  lark  to  put  those 
advertisements  in  just  to  see  what  kind  of  letters 
one  gets.  Whichever  of  us  gets  most  in  ten  days 
after  they  appear  troubles  the  other  for  a  quid. 
If  anything  very  funny  comes  along  I  shall  send 
it  to  you. — Your  loving  TOBY 

XI 

DIGBY  BERNAL  TO  His  NEPHEW,  TOBY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  TOBY, — I  am  glad  you  have  your 

commission,  and  wish  I  was  young  enough  myself. 

I  do  what  I  can  in  my  old  crock's  way,  and  at 

present  have  to  stand  for  hours  every  day  outside 

[20] 


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a  place  where  they  make  electric  light,  to  guard 
it  from  Germans  in  our  midst,  although  I  have 
no  notion  how  I  could  protect  it  if  they  came  in 
any  force.  You  may  of  course  never  get  into  ac- 
tion at  all,  for  I  can't  think  the  war  will  last  long. 
England,  France,  and  Russia  are  too  strong,  and 
Bismarck  always  warned  his  country  against  tak- 
ing on  both  France  and  Russia  at  once.  By 
Christmas  we  shall  all  be  happy  again,  I  feel  sure, 
or  at  any  rate  by  next  April. 

Meanwhile,  in  case  of  accidents,  I  am  sending 
you  a  periscope  for  the  trenches,  should  you  ever 
reach  them.  I  have  given  one  also  to  Dick. — 
Your  affectionate  uncle  DIGBY  BERNAL 


XII 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  His  NEPHEW,  TOBY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  TOBY, — I  hear  that  you  have  become 
an  officer,  and  in  so  far  as  it  shows  that  you  have 
pluck  and  patriotism,  I  am  glad  of  it:  but  other- 
wise I  cannot  pretend  to  much  satisfaction,  for  I 
am  far  from  sanguine  as  to  the  task  before  us. 

[21] 


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Not  only  are  the  Germans  a  great  purposeful  peo- 
ple, with  scientific  order  as  their  life-blood,  but 
they  have  been  preparing  for  years,  while  we  have 
as  consistently  been  neglecting  warnings  and  re- 
joicing in  our  fool's  paradise,  in  spite  of  great  men 
like  Lord  Roberts.  Personally  I  have  done  what 
I  could,  but  it  was  a  voice  in  the  wilderness. 
France,  of  course,  is  effete,  and  I  myself  see  very 
little  hope  for  England.  The  best  that  can  be  ex- 
pected is  some  kind  of  a  stalemate. 

Still  we  must  all  be  as  cheerful  as  we  can  and 
I  must  not  discourage  your  enthusiasm,  so  it  is 
with  real  pleasure  that  I  send  you  a  periscope 
for  use  in  the  trenches  when  you  begin  your  work. 
— I  am,  yours  cordially,  GEORGE  WISTON 

XIII 

LIEUT.-COL.  SIR  HECTOR  RICARDO  TO  His  GOD- 
SON, TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  TOBY, — I  am  instructing  Messrs.  Booth- 
royd  of  Bond  Street  to  despatch  to  you,  by  pas- 
senger train,  carriage  paid,  the  latest  and  best  type 
[22] 


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of  periscope  for  use  in  the  trenches,  because  I  am 
convinced  that  in  the  present  kind  of  warfare, 
very  different  from  that  to  which  I  was  accus- 
tomed, no  officer  should  be  without  one.  If  by 
any  chance  you  get  it  broken  or  it  is  mislaid,  at 
once  let  me  know,  and  I  will  replace  it.  If  you 
are  hit,  hand  it  to  one  of  your  companions. 

I  wish  I  was  not  on  the  shelf;  but  although 
the  spirit  is  willing  the  flesh  is  woefully  weak.  I 
am  riddled  with  rheumatism  and  gout.  I  hold 
that  when  one  is  too  old  one  should  admit  it. 
Some  of  the  "dug-outs,"  however,  think  otherwise 
— and  not  to  the  country's  advantage ! 

If  you  would  avoid  my  troubles  when  you  are 
my  age,  be  wise  now  and  never  touch  red  beef, 
take  very  little  alcoholic  stimulant,  and  give  up 
sugar.  All  these  things  make  for  uric  acid  and 
unhappiness. — Your  sincere  friend, 

HECTOR  RICARDO 

P.S. — When  footsore  it  is  a  good  plan  to 
change  socks.  Whisky  poured  in  the  boots  is  also 
a  help. 


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XIV 

LADY  STARR  TO  TOBY  STARR 

MY  DEAREST  TOBY,  OFFICER  AND  GENTLE- 
MAN,— I  don't  know  that  I  quite  like  your  adver- 
tisement joke.  There  are  so  many  nice  people  in 
the  world  ready,  and  especially  just  now,  to  do 
kind  things,  that  you  may  take  some  of  them  in. 
Don't  you  see  that  you  may  get  letters,  written 
with  great  care  and  possibly  at  the  sacrifice  of 
time  and  even  feeling  to  the  writer,  that  might 
have  gone  to  comfort  and  sustain  young  soldiers 
who  really  are  lonely?  Of  course  you  couldn't 
think  of  all  that  the  other  night  over  your  jolly 
little  dinner;  but  if  I  were  you  I  should  not  put 
the  advertisement  in  any  more. 

There,  I  don't  often  preach  to  you,  do  I*?  You 
must  forgive  your  very  fond  and  rather-proud-of- 
her-son  MOTHER 


[24] 


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XV 


Miss  ANNE  LIVESEY  (His  OLD  NURSE)  TO  TOBY 
STARR 

DEAR  MASTER  TOBY, — I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  you  going  off  to  the  front  at  this  time  of  year, 
and  you  such  a  one  to  catch  cold.  I  wish  I  could 
come  with  you  to  take  care  of  you  and  see  that 
you  change  your  wet  things,  but  that  is  not  to  be 
thought  of.  I  should  have  knitted  you  something 
warm,  only  for  the  rheumatics  in  my  hand,  and 
so  I  am  sending  you  instead  something  which  my 
nephew,  who  is  with  the  B.E.F.,  says  that  every 
soldier  ought  to  have,  and  which  I  got  the  Vicar 
to  get  for  me  w,hen  he  went  to  London.  I  am 
too  old  to  understand  such  things,  but  they  say 
you  can  see  through  this  over  the  top  of  a  trench 
without  being  seen  yourself.  Dear  Master  Toby, 
I  shall  pray  for  you  every  day;  and  don't  forget 
to  take  plenty  of  camphor  pillules  with  you  for 
when  you  are  chilled. — Yours  respectfully 

ANNE  LIVESEY 

05] 


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XVI 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

DEAR  GRANNY, — To-day  I  have  been  out  with 
Toby  collecting  salutes.  He  is  now  more  or  less 
natural  in  his  uniform  and  very  proud  of  it.  In 
fact  he  won't  change  it  for  anything.  Just  think, 
the  particular  Toby!  It  is  most  thrilling  to  see 
him  being  saluted,  and  he  acknowledges  it  so  nicely 
and  not  in  the  off-hand  way  that  some  of  the  offi- 
cers do.  It's  such  fun  to  see  the  men  who  are 
coming  along  getting  their  arms  ready,  and  some- 
times the  poor  dears  have  to  let  go  their  girls  to 
do  it.  But  now  and  then  we  met  one  who  paid 
no  attention  to  Toby  at  all,  and  I  was  furious, 
but  Toby  says  it's  not  worth  while  doing  anything 
about  it.  And  there  are  all  kinds  of  penalties  if 
they  are  reported.  Indeed  I'm  not  sure  that  they 
can't  be  shot,  but  that  perhaps  is  too  much.  Still, 
it's  outrageous  that  they  should  be  allowed  to  be 
so  rude. 

Toby  goes  off  to-morrow  to  somewhere  near 
Salisbury  Plain.  We  shall  miss  him. 

[26] 


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Poor  John  is  furious  because  he  is  under  age. 
He  went  back  to  school  like  a  thunder-cloud.  It 
was  very  comic,  but  also  rather  tragic,  to  see  his 
envy  of  Toby.  Mother's  point  of  view — John 
being  her  only  son — never  enters  his  head  at  all; 
but  then  of  course  he  is  very  young  and  this  is  the 
most  exciting  thing  that  has  ever  happened  in 
his  life. 

I  am  going  to  Paris  very  shortly  to  a  hospital 
there.  It  has  suddenly  been  decided.  Until  I  go 
I  am  to  spend  two  hours  a  day  talking  with  a 
funny  old  Mademoiselle  to  try  and  get  my  French 
back.  She  is  very  puzzled  by  the  English.  "How 
fond  you  are,"  she  said  yesterday,  "of  making 
the  wash  of  dirty  clothes  in  public."  Her  father 
fell  in  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  and  she  feels 
this  new  invasion  doubly.  It  must  be  terrible  to 
have  the  enemy  occupying  miles  of  one's  own, 
country. — Your  loving  Vi. 


[27] 


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XVII 

MRS.  RICKARDS  TO  Box  06 

YOU    POOR    DEAR    LONELY    BOY, 1    Want   VCiy 

much  to  write  to  you  and  to  comfort  you,  but  it  is 
very  difficult  unless  one  knows  more.  Send  me 
a  line,  however  brief,  to  tell  me  who  you  are, 
where  you  come  from,  where  you  were  at  school, 
and  what  college  at  the  University.  I  have  three 
sons  of  my  own,  one  of  whom  is  in  the  Army,  one 
in  the  Navy,  and  the  other  still  at  Eton.  The 
eldest,  who  is  in  the  Buffs,  is,  I  am  told,  very 
popular  and  adored  by  his  men.  The  second,  on 
the  Indestructible,  is  the  pet  of  the  mess.  I  send 
them  illustrated  papers  every  week,  and  would 
send  some  to  you  if  you  like.  They  both  dote 
on  "The  Letters  of  Eve"  in  the  Tatler.  I  wonder 
if  you  do  too.  And  those  bewitching  ladies  by 
Kirchner  which  used  to  be  in  La  Vie  Parisienne, 
they  love  those  too  and  always  want  more. 
You  are  all  naughty,  you  boys,  I  am  afraid,  but 
I  love  you  for  your  bravery.  Let  me  have  a 

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line  in  reply,  and  I  will  write  and  cheer  you 
up  again. — Yours  sincerely, 

BLANCHE  RICKARDS 

XVIII 
MRS.  THOMAS  BURSLEM  TO  Box  06 

DEAR  SIR, — I  have  often  found  great  comfort 
during  loneliness  by  guessing  words.  In  the  hope 
that  you  may  be  similarly  relieved  I  send  the 

following  four  words  as  a  start : — 

» 

SARCINETA 
ROLLEBATE 
THEREINN 
ALTARBEY 

If  you  care  to  have  more  I  will  send  them. — 
Yours  truly,  SARAH  BURSLEM 

XIX 

MESSRS.  NOGRASS  &  UNDERFOOT  TO  Box  06 

DEAR  SIR, — We  beg  to  bring  to  your  notice 
the  enclosed  list  of  indoor  games  and  pastimes, 

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all  of  which  are  calculated  to  remove  loneliness 
and  relieve  ennui.  We  would  particularly  call 
your  attention  to  our  miniature  chess  and  draught 
boards  for  the  trenches,  with  the  chess  men  and 
draughts  on  little  pegs  to  fit  into  sockets.  We 
would  also  draw  your  attention  to  the  new  puzzle 
entitled  "The  Road  to  Potsdam,"  which  has  made 
many  a  dull  hour  pass  rapidly  and  with  roars  of 
healthy  laughter. 

Postal  orders  or  stamps  must  accompany  all 
orders,  which  will  be  executed  with  promptness 
and  dispatch. — Yours  faithfully, 

NOGRASS  &  UNDERFOOT 

XX 

MESSRS.  NOGRASS  &  UNDERFOOT  TO  Box  27 

DEAR  SIR, — We  beg  to  bring  to  your  notice 
the  enclosed  list  of  indoor  games  and  pastimes, 
all  of  which  are  calculated  to  remove  loneliness 
and  relieve  ennui.  We  would  particularly  call 
your  attention  to  our  miniature  chess  and  draught 
boards  for  the  trenches,  with  the  chess  men  and 

[30] 


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draughts  on  little  pegs  to  fit  into  sockets.  We 
would  also  draw  your  attention  to  the  new  puzzle 
entitled  "The  Road  to  Potsdam,"  which  has 
made  many  a  dull  hour  pass  rapidly  and  with 
roars  of  healthy  laughter. 

Postal  orders  or  stamps  must  accompany  all 
orders,  which  will  be  executed  with  promptness 
and  despatch. — Yours  faithfully. 

NOGRASS  &  UNDERFOOT 


XXI 

MRS.  PARK-STAN  MER  TO  Box  27 

DEAR  Box  27, — Such  a  lot  of  lonely  subs,  ad- 
vertise for  letters  to-day  that  it  is  difficult  which 
to  choose.  I  decided  on  you  because  the  number 
of  your  Box,  27,  is  the  same  as  this  house,  where 
I  am  lodging  to  be  near  my  husband,  who  is  in 
command  close  by.  I  like  to  write  to  one  lonely 
sub.  every  day,  however  busy  I  am,  because  I 
know  how  much  it  must  mean  to  you,  poor  dears, 
to  get  a  letter.  But  I  always  make  it  a  condition 

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that  you  reply.    Tell  me  everything  and  then  we 
shall  get  on  famously. — Yours  sincerely, 

AMABEL  PARK-STANMER 


XXII 

MR.  COURTENAY  FOLJAMBE  TO  BOX  06 

MR.  COURTENAY  FOLJAMBE  presents  his  com- 
pliments to  the  lonely  subaltern  whose  letters  are 
to  be  addressed  to  Box  06,  and  begs  to  enclose  a 
copy  of  his  latest  poem  on  the  war,  in  the  hope 
that  it  may  both  stimulate  and  please  him.  Cop- 
ies may  be  had  of  the  author  at  threepence  each. 

(Verses  entitled  "Come,  let  us  shoulder  guns," 
dedicated  by  special  permission  to  King  Albert, 
enclosed.) 

XXIII 

MR.  COURTENAY  FOLJAMBE  TO  Box  27 

MR.  COURTENAY  FOLJAMBE  presents  his  com- 
pliments to  the  lonely  subaltern  whose  letters  are 

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to  be  addressed  to  Box  27,  and  begs  to  enclose  a 
copy  of  his  latest  poem  on  the  war,  in  the  hope 
that  it  may  both  stimulate  and  please  him.  Cop- 
ies may  be  had  of  the  author  at  threepence  each. 
(Verses  entitled  "Come,  let  us  shoulder  guns," 
dedicated  by  special  permission  to  King  Albert, 
enclosed.) 

XXIV 

MRS.  SlLVERTON  TO  BOX  2J 

MY  DEAR  BOY, — You  must  allow  me  to  call 
you  that  because  you  are  young  and  I  am  old. 
I  know  of  course  nothing  about  you — not  even 
where  you  are,  whether  in  England  or  abroad — 
but  I  want  you  to  let  me  write  to  you  just  as  if 
you  were  my  own  son,  who  was  killed  very  soon 
after  the  war  broke  out.  This  will  be  a  kind  ac- 
tion on  your  part.  My  boy  was  twenty-one  and 
he  had  just  left  Oxford  and  was  about  to  enter 
his  father's  office;  but  being  a  very  keen  Terri- 
torial he  was  sent  to  France  almost  at  once.  In 
the  hope  that  some  of  the  things  I  had  said  to 

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him  may  be  of  comfort  and  help  to  you — and 
from  the  fact  that  you  say  you  are  lonely,  I  feel 
that  you  cannot  have  too  many  friends — I  am  en- 
closing the  letter  which  I  was  writing  to  him  at 
the  moment  that  the  news  of  his  death  was 
brought  to  us. — Your  sincere  friend, 

ANNE  SILVERTON 

P.S. — If  you  would  care  to  write  to  me,  my 
address  is — Laurel  Lodge,  Chertsey  Lane,  Wey- 
bridge. 

[Enclosure] 

MY  DEAREST  SON, — Your  letter  gave  your 
father  and  me  much  pleasure.  I  am  glad  that  the 
boots  keep  out  the  water  so  thoroughly.  Be  care- 
ful what  you  drink  out  there.  A  little  wine  is 
safer  than  much  of  the  water,  I  am  told;  but  you 
know  how  unhappy  we  should  be  if  you  got  into 
the  way  of  taking  too  much;  nor  would  it  be  fair 
either,  for  you  belong  now  to  your  King,  and  he 
wants  the  best  and  clearest  of  your  brains  and  all 
your  strength,  which  he  could  not  have  if  you 
drank  in  excess.  I  could  have  wished  with  all  my 
heart  that  it  had  never  been  the  business  of  my 

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son  to  kill  his  fellow-men,  but  since  force  of  arms 
seems  to  be,  in  the  present  state  of  the  world's 
progress,  the  only  way  to  right  this  terrible  wrong 
that  has  come  upon  civilisation,  I  am  glad  to 
think  that  he  laid  aside  all  his  private  plans  so 
readily  to  do  his  share,  and  I  shall  always  be 
proud  of  him  for  it.  And  you  were  such  a  tender 
little  boy  too,  and  would  often  carry  a  spider  or 
earwig  to  the  window  and  throw  it  out  rather 
than  stamp  on  it.  I  am  so  glad  that  French  time 
and  English  time  are  now  the  same,  because  I 
am  going  to  say  a  little  prayer  for  you  at  8  every 
morning  and  7  every  evening,  and  if  you  are  not 
too  busy  you  will  perhaps  do  the  same  for  me,  for 
we  all  need  it.  Your  father  is 


XXV 

TOBY  STARR  TO  MRS.  SILVERTON 

DEAR  MRS.  SILVERTON, — I  want  to  apologise 
to  you  for  not  being  quite  straight.  That  adver- 
tisement of  mine  which  brought  your  very  kind 
letter  and  enclosure  (which  I  return  as  being  quite 

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unworthy  to  keep  it)  was  a  kind  of  a  joke,  just 
to  see  how  many  letters  would  come  and  what 
kind  of  letters  people  wrote  on  these  occasions. 
But  your  reply  has  knocked  all  the  joke  out  of  it 
and  made  me  feel  ashamed,  and  I  have  now  done 
what  I  can  to  stop  it. 

If  after  this  confession  you  still  would  like  to 
write  to  me  again,  I  wish  you  would;  but  to  my 
camp  as  below.  But  I  cannot  really  hope  for  that. 
Your  son,  I  am  sure,  would  never  have  done  a 
thing  like  this,  and  it  makes  me  the  less  worthy 
of  your  kindness. — I  am,  yours  sincerely, 

T.  STARR  (2nd  Lieut.) 

XXVI 

TOBY  STARR  TO  His  MOTHER 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — If  you  see  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  Times  calling  the  lonely  sub.  business 
off  you  will  know  that  it  is  mine.  And  I  dare  say 
Jerry  will  put  one  in  too.  You  were  quite  right : 
one  ought  not  to  play  such  games.  I  ought  to 
have  been  more  sensible;  but  one  can't  think  of 

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everything  at  once — at  least  I  can't — although 
one  seems  to  think  of  everything  in  course  of 
time,  which  is  no  use.  I  know  I  hadn't  read 
two  letters  before  I  was  jolly  sick  of  the  whole 
thing  and  blushing  like  a  tomato;  but  I  haven't 
any  to  send  to  you. 

No  more  to-day,  except  very  much  love  from 

A.  S.  A.  A.  W.  T. 

P.S. — Those  initials  mean — a  sadder  and  a 
wiser  Toby.  I  am  at  Mrs.  Wickenden's,  Ivy 
Cottage,  Amesbury.  On  velvet  too,  for  there  is 
a  bathroom  next  to  my  bedroom.  There  is  a  lot 
of  luck  about  billeting.  Some  fellows  get  only 
a  garret  and  others  sumptuous  mansions  with 
footmen. 


XXVII 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  am  so  much  concerned  by 
the  way  things  are  going  and  the  appalling  cost 
of  the  war  that  I  am  beginning  to  save  and  con- 

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ceal  actual  cash.  For  where  should  we  be  if  the 
bank  balances  were  called  up1?  And  they  very 
likely  will  be.  I  have  made  a  hole  in  the  shrub- 
bery in  which  I  have  buried  with  great  care  an 
iron  box,  and  every  day  or  so  I  add  notes  and 
coins  to  it.  I  am  convinced  that  this  is  a  neces- 
sary precaution.  The  country  is  heading  straight 
for  financial  ruin,  but  I  shall  do  my  very  best  not 
to  be  brought  down  with  it. — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 

XXVIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  GEORGE  WISTON 

DEAR  GEORGE, — I  think  you  make  the  mistake 
of  reading  too  many  papers  and  hearing  too  much 
talk.  When  there  is  war  on  men  like  you  should 
take  to  gardening  and  dig  hard.  Or  do  some  re- 
cruiting. I  always  said  you  retired  from  busi- 
ness too  soon. 

The  truth  is  that  we  are  not  a  military  nation 
and  not  a  suspicious  nation.  Had  we  been  either, 
or  both,  things  would  now  be  different,  but  also 

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many  of  us  would  have  emigrated  to  other  coun- 
tries long  since.  When  a  non-military  nation  is 
suddenly  attacked  by  a  nation  that  has  been 
preparing  for  that  war  for  generations,  there  are 
bound  to  be  initial  blunders.  But  give  us  time 
and  we  shall  be  all  right.  It  is  part  of  England's 
genius  to  begin  wrong.  Also  it  is  our  habit  to 
win.  Take  my  advice  and  throw  yourself  into 
something  active  and  give  your  club  a  wide  berth. 
—Yours,  R.  H. 


DEAR  RICHARD, — To-day's  news  seems  to  de- 
press people,  but  it  is  only  because  they  have  not 
enough  knowledge  to  enable  them  to  read  be- 
tween the  lines.  What  I  admit  must  look  to  the 
uninitiated  very  like  a  reverse  is  really  all  part 
of  Joffre's  strategy,  which  takes  count  of  checks 
as  well  as  victories.  By  letting  the  enemy  have 
this  apparent  advantage  he  will  be  all  the  more 

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fitted,  when  the  time  comes,  to  deal  him  a  vital 
blow. 

By  the  way,  I  wonder  if  you  have  heard  of  this 
steady  progress  -of  Russian  soldiers  through  Eng- 
land to  the  western  front1?  It  is  wonderful  the 
way  we  have  managed  it — all  so  secretly  and  ef- 
ficiently. It  takes  old  England  to  accomplish 
such  feats  as  this.  Some  people  still  deny  it, 
but  I  happen  to  be  in  the  secret,  through  an  in- 
fluential friend.  The  Russian  soldiers,  thousands 
strong,  have  come  from  Archangel  to  Scotland,  as 
I  know  for  a  fact. — Yours,  D.  B. 

XXX 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

MY  DEAR  B., — I  must  tell  you  about  three 
men  I  met  yesterday,  one  at  a  club,  one  in  the 
street,  and  one  in  a  train.  All  are  between  forty 
and  fifty;  in  fact,  contemporaries  of  my  own. 
All  are  fairly  well-to-do,  or  were  before  the  War 
started.  To-day  no  one  knows  what  he  is  worth. 
And  to-morrow ? 

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The  first  was  Donaldson.  I  forget  whether  you 
have  met  him :  a  tall  man  with  a  grey  moustache, 
who  went  golf-mad  after  his  wife  died.  He  lives 
near  Aylesbury.  He  was  walking  along  Cockspur 
Street  when  I  met  him,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  when 
he  met  me.  He  was  in  that  dangerous  mood  when 
a  man  says,  "Which  way  are  you  going?  I  have 
nothing  much  to  do;  I'll  go  along  with  you." 

I  said  I  was  going  to  the  Albany. 

"You're  just  the  man  I  wanted  to  see,"  he  said. 
"I  want  your  advice.  The  fact  is,  the  War  is 
gettin'  on  my  nerves,  and  I  really  think  I  ought 
to  be  doin'  somethin'.  Somethin'  real,  I  mean. 
I  am  too  old  to  fight;  even  if  I  could  scrape 
through  with  a  lie  about  my  age.  What  do  you 
say"?  Couldn't  you  suggest  some  organism'  I 
could  do?  I  hate  to  praise  myself,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain that  if  there's  one  thing  I  can  do,  it's  to 
organise.  Look  at  the  things  I  have  done  in  that 
way.  Look  at  our  Golf  Club.  Works  like  a 
clock.  Look  at  my  billiard-room  lamps;  my  own 
idea,  and  every  one  notices  them.  Ever  since  I 
was  at  school  I  have  been  an  organiser.  I  ran 
all  the  various  societies  there.  Now  don't  you 

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think  there  ought  to  be  a  vacancy  for  me  in  one 
of  the  departments'?" 

I  said  I  had  an  idea  that  they  now  prefer 
trained  men;  amateurs  can  be  a  nuisance. 

"I  know  that,"  he  said.  "But  mine's  a  different 
case.  There's  always  room  at  the  top  and  for 
a  real  organiser — a  born  administrator.  Now  do 
promise  to  think  of  something  for  me.  And  let 
me  know." 

I  promised;  it's  the  easiest  thing  to  do.  But 
I  haven't  the  faintest  belief  in  the  man's  ability. 
Besides,  he's  lazy. 

Saunders  came  up  to  me  in  the  club. 

"Lunching  alone*?"  he  asked. 

I  had  to  admit  it. 

"You  don't  mind  if  I  join  you?"  he  added. 

I  couldn't  tell  the  truth;  so  down»he  sat. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "You  know 
several  Government  people,  I  know.  Well,  I 
have  been  talking  it  over  with  my  missis,  and  we 
are  sure  that  with  my  gift  of  organisation  there 
must  be  some  post  I  could  fill  just  now,  to  help 
old  England.  I'd  fight  if  I  could,  but  I'm  too  old. 
But  my  brain's  in  perfect  order  and  there's  noth- 


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ing  I  can't  do  with  underlings.  I've  proved  it 
again  and  again.  You  should  see  how  I  keep 
my  gardeners  hopping  about ;  and,  although  I  say 
it  as  shouldn't,  my  clerks  adore  me.  Now  surely 
there's  some  vacancy  for  me  somewhere.  Not 
this  week  and  not  next,  because  we've  got  peo- 
ple till  then;  but  after  that.  Can't  you  think 
of  anything?  Do  what  you  can  for  me,  won't 
you?' 

I  said  I  would;  knowing  I  could  do  nothing. 

But  why  on  earth  am  I  supposed  to  be  able  to 
help  everybody"? 

The  third  was  Arthur  Dodson,  who  married 
that  fat  Shelley  girl  and  took  Parker's  old  house. 
Dodson  caught  sight  of  me  on  the  Underground 
a  second  too  soon.  A  second  later  and  my 
Westminster  would  have  covered  my  face. 

"Ah,  that's  right,"  he  said.  "I  was  hoping  I 
should  find  you.  I've  got  something  very  im- 
portant to  tell  you." 

I  laid  aside  the  paper  and  prepared  for  the 
worst. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  said.  "All  my  friends  tell 
me  Pve  got  very  unusual  abilities  as  an  organiser, 

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and  upon  my  soul  I  believe  they're  right,  though 
it  may  sound  like  swanking  to  say  so.  My  head's 
all  pigeon-holes,  you  know;  all  watertight  com- 
partments. I  can  keep  things  clear  and  distinct. 
And  I  never  forget  a  face.  That's  what  they  said 
of  King  Edward — one  of  his  great  secrets  of 
success.  And  it's  true  of  me  too.  Well,  up  to 
the  present  I've  done  nothing  for  the  country  in 
its  time  of  stress.  When  I  say  nothing,  I  don't 
exactly  mean  that.  A  fagon  de  parley  don't  you 
know?  But  nothing  very  practical.  I've  written 
a  cheque  or  two,  of  course,  and  housed  some 
Belgians,  poor  devils!  But  I've  done  nothing 
with  myself;  I  haven't  put  my  own  peculiar 
talent  into  it.  But  now  I  feel  that  the  time's 
come;  and  with  this  organising  gift  of  mine,  of 
which  my  friends  speak  so  highly,  I  think  I  ought 
really  to  be  of  great  service  to  those  in  power. 
Can't  you  suggest  anything  for  a  born  organiser 
to  do?  I  don't  mind  whether  it's  at  Downing 
Street,  or  Pall  Mall,  or  where  it  is.  In  fact,  I 
don't  mind  if  it's  in  France  so  long  as  expenses 
are  paid.  I  think  it's  only  right  to  ask  for  them, 
don't  you?  A  labourer  and  his  hire,  don't  you 

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know?  And  what  costs  nothing  is  too  often 
worth  nothing,  eh?  But  it  must  be  sound  or- 
ganising work — armaments,  stirring  up  the  coun- 
try, registering  the  slackers,  I  don't  mind  what. 
You'll  try  to  think  of  something?" 

I  undertook  to  do  so. 

And  now  I  know  that  whenever  I  see  anybody 
I  am  acquainted  with  approaching  me  I  shall  at 
once  say  to  him,  long  before  he  can  speak,  "You 
want  me  to  help  you  to  a  post  as  organiser  of 
some  kind  in  connexion  with  the  War,  don't  you? 
Because  organising  has  always  been  your  long 
suit.  Munitions  or  something;  it  matters  little 
so  long  as  your  organising  genius  (and  genius  is 
not  too  strong  a  word)  can  have  play." 

But  it  has  had  an  effect  on  me.  I  shall  never 
refer  to  my  own  organising  ability  any  more,  as 
I  rather  fear  I  may  have  done. — Yours,  R.  H. 


[45] 


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XXXI 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

DEAR  GRANNY, — Toby  ran  up  to  town  for  the 
day  yesterday  and  called  on  us.  He  is  now  quite 
natural  in  his  uniform  and  has  got  all  the  stiff- 
ness out  of  his  cap,  so  that  it  looks  a  hundred 
years  old.  All  his  nuttiness  has  gone.  You  re- 
member how  his  hair  used  to  be  swept  right  back 
from  his  forehead  with  lovely  comb  marks  in  it. 
Well,  now  it  is  cut  short  and  he  has  an  absurd  lit- 
tle moustache  coming — a  kind  of  toothbrush  thing 
which,  if  it  were  only  black,  would  be  like  Charlie 
Chaplin's. 

Poor  John  has  been  bothering  mother  to  let 
him  say  he  is  old  enough  to  enlist.  It's  rather 
ripping  of  him,  but  mother  won't  hear  of  it.  Of 
course  she  is  right,  but  I  know  I  should  feel  just 
as  John  does.  He  is  awfully  keen,  and  has  a  map 
and  little  flags,  and  we  send  him  Land  and  Water 
every  week.  I  am  going  to  a  London  hospital  as 
a  help  next  Monday,  and  after  a  while  I  move  on 

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to  France.     It's  lucky  I  had  attended  all  those 
First  Aid  classes. — Your  loving  Vi. 

XXXII 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  TOBY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  TOBY, — I  hope  you  have  good  quar- 
ters and  that  they  won't  send  you  out  before  you 
are  really  ready.  When  you  go,  remember  (in 
the  trenches)  to  keep  your  head  down  and  your 
heart  up — so  far  as  you  can.  To  an  old  bache- 
lor like  me  there  is  something  not  too  satisfac- 
tory in  the  thought  that  we  should,  for  our  pro- 
tection, resort  to  our  youngest;  but  England  has 
been  too  much  jumped  by  events  to  get  the 
anomaly  put  right.  Some  day,  perhaps?  Yet 
what  is  the  use  of  laws  in  warfare?  No  one  will 
ever  respect  them.  The  Hague  at  this  moment,  to 
the  inward  eye,  is  more  a  ruin  than  Pompeii. 

I  am  sending  you  a  pocket  flask.  May  it  not 
only  help  you  against  chills  but  stop  the  bullets 
of  the  Hun ! — Always  your  affectionate  uncle, 

RICHARD  HAVEN 

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XXXIII 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — You  would  not  have  thought 
that  there  was  any  one,  save  perhaps  the  Kaiser, 
who  could  have  been  made  happier  by  the  destruc- 
tion of  Louvain;  but  there  is.  My  clerk.  Not 
that  he  is  cruel  or  bloodthirsty.  Far  from  it. 
But  his  good  star  chances  to  have  lured  him  to 
Belgium  for  his  last  holiday,  and  he  spent  three 
days  in  Louvain  with  his  camera.  The  harvest  is 
now  his  to  the  ultimate  grain.  He  is  never  to  be 
seen  without  his  album  of  photographs.  He  has 
shown  it  to  me ;  he  takes  it  out  to  lunch ;  he  hands 
it  to  callers  with  a  few  well-chosen  remarks;  and 
he  is  the  shining  light  of  his  suburb.  He  has  never 
been  a  hero  before,  and  it  is  doing  him  no  harm. 
But  I  suspect  that  he  will  overdo  it.  Indeed  there 
must  be  all  over  England  informative  individu- 
als who,  "by  a  strange  coincidence,"  spent  their 
last  holidays  in  Belgium,  to  whom  their  friends 
are  beginning  to  give  the  cold  shoulder. 

I  wrote  to  Toby  yesterday  and  sent  him  a 

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pocket-flask.  That  he  comes  through  safely  is  my 
constant  hope;  not  only  for  his  sake  and  yours, 
but  mine  (for  I  am  greatly  attached  to  him)  and 
England's.  She  will  badly  need  every  clean 
young  man  when  sanity  revisits  this  unhappy 
earth. — Yours  ever,  R. 

P.S. — Here  is  an  epigram  for  the  moment: 

Meeting  a  publicist,  I  bade  him  say 
What  is  one's  highest  duty  this  grim  day. 
"One's  highest  duty,"  he  replied,  "is  this: 
To  tell  to  others  what  their  duty  is." 


XXXIV 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  don't  wish  to  depress  you, 
in  your  fool's  paradise,  but  it  seems  to  be  an  only 
too  well  established  fact  that  there  are  traitors  in 
the  Cabinet.  I  hesitate  to  give  names,  but  at 
least  three  men  are  suspected,  with  reason,  of  be- 
ing in  German  pay.  It  is  awful  to  think  of  what 
the  power  of  money  can  be.  You  may  ask  why 

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tfiey  are  not  exposed,  removed,  and  punished — 
and  the  extreme  penalty  would  be  too  merciful — 
but  that  argues  ignorance  of  all  the  wheels  within 
wheels  that  govern  political  life.  And  so  the 
ghastly  business  goes  on  and  England  is  sacrificed. 

I  have  written  a  letter  on  this  subject  signed 
"A  Patriot,"  which  you  will  probably  find  in  to- 
morrow's papers.  I  sent  it  to  all,  but  some,  of 
course,  are  venal  too.  The  canker  is  very  deep. 

Being  a  little  run  down  I  am  motoring  to  Wales 
for  a  few  days;  but  it  is  a  sad  heart  that  I  shall 
take  with  me. — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 


XXXV 

LADY  STARR  TO  HER  SISTER,  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAREST  JOAN, — I  cannot  help  feeling  how 
fortunate  you  are  in  having  a  son  who  is  well 
under  age.  It  is  awful  to  have  both  one's  men  in 
this  grisly  business.  Vincent,  of  course,  being 
chiefly  engaged  in  organisation,  is  not  exposed  to 
much  danger,  although  one  never  knows  what  an 

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aeroplane  bomb  will  do;  but  Toby  is  certain  to 
get  to  the  front,  I  fear.  I  say  fear,  and  I  mean  it, 
but  also  I  should  be  disappointed  if  he  did  not 
get  there.  I  want  him  to  do  something  fine,  and 
I  dread  the  anxiety  too!  But  everything  is  a 
mixture.  However,  until  the  time  comes  I  shall 
keep  as  cheerful  as  I  can,  for  that  is  clearly  the 
first  job  for  us  women. 

Here  we  are  knitting-mad,  and  at  the  rate  at 
which  we  turn  out  socks  you  would  think  that 
every  British  Tommy  was  a  centipede. 

That  is  our  work;  our  pastime  is  to  discuss 
refugees.  Where  once  we  used  to  meet  to  play 
Bridge  we  now  meet  to  compare  Belgians.  We 
call  them  mine  or  ours  and  set  them  off  against 
those  of  our  friends,  claiming  either  that  they  are 
better  or  worse,  with  equal  pride.  No,  not  equal 
pride,  for  what  one  wishes  is  to  have  the 
worst.  This  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  we  say  to 
each  other:  "I  must  tell  you  what  that  little 
terror,  Jamais  Delavie,  did  yesterday.  She  went 
into  Jack's  dressing-room,  took  his  diamond  pin 
from  the  cushion  there,  and  wrote:  'A  bas  Guil- 
laume!'  and  worse  things — dreadful  things,  only 

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mercifully  in  French — on  every  window.  She  is 
only  a  child,  of  course,  and  the  sentiment  was 
perfect:  but  we  shall  have  to  have  new  glass." 
And  then  the  others  counter  with  something  like 
this:  "Yes,  dear,  aren't  they  wonderful1?  There's 
my  old  Madame  La  Sale — well,  we  simply  can't 
get  her  out  of  the  bathroom.  What  she  does 
there,  no  one  can  guess;  but  she  has  complete 
possession  of  it  every  day  for  two  or  three  hours. 
And  that  it's  not  for  the  ordinary  purpose  of  a 
bathroom  we  are  only  too  conscious." 

The  funniest  case  in  our  district,  which  is  full 
of  them,  is  Monsieur  Punaise  the  artist.  Lots  of 
them  are  artists,  you  know.  Indeed,  one  wonders 
sometimes  if  the  Belgians  did  not  subsist  by  buy- 
ing each  other's  drawings.  Monsieur  Punaise  is 
quartered  on  Lady  Trenchard,  who  not  only  is 
the  head  and  front  of  teetotalism  hereabouts  and 
has  consented  to  the  importation  of  claret  from 
the  grocer  only  because  Monsieur  is  a  foreigner 
and  therefore  does  not  matter  so  much,  all  for- 
eigners being  sinners,  but  is  also  the  soul  of  moral 
rectitude  and  ecclesiasticism.  And  Monsieur 

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Punaise's  only  means  of  livelihood  is  to  make 
comic  hand-painted  post  cards. 

Now  you  know  what  a  comic  post  card  is  on 
the  Continent — all  high  spirits,  nudity,  and  curves 
— and  poor  Lady  Trenchard  is  in  despair  to  have 
her  spotless  sanctuary  turned  into  a  factory  for 
such  things.  But  such  is  her  sense  of  duty  over 
the  war  and  her  feeling  with  regard  to  the  poor 
Belgians,  that  she  utters  no  protest.  It's  all  very 
comic,  but  it's  really  rather  splendid  too,  for  I'm 
sure  the  poor  old  thing  is  really  outraged  and 
has  to  make  a  much  bigger  fight  to  keep  amiable 
than  any  one  would  suspect. 

I  believe  that  Monsieur  Punaise  is  to  be  ex- 
changed for  a  penniless  but  devout  Comtesse  from 
the  neighbourhood  of  Malines  very  shortly.  The 
only  trouble  then  will  be  that  a  Papist  atmos- 
phere will  endanger  the  purity  of  the  home.  If 
ever  the  Comtesse  is  ill — and  one  thinks  of  Com- 
tesses  as  either  very  naughty  or  very  fragile,  and 
this  one  of  course  isn't  naughty — it  will  mean  a 
visit  from  a  priest.  And  just  think  of  Lady 
Trenchard,  who  is  a  Vice-President  of  more  than 
one  Protestant  League,  with  a  priest  under  her 

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ropf !  Again  I  say  it  is  splendid,  and  it  shows 
what  is  being  done  against  the  grain  for  the  war. — 
Yours  ever,  HELEN 

XXXVI 

MRS.  HAVEN  TO  VIOLET  LASTWAYS 

MY  DEAR  VIOLET, — I  am  greatly  interested  in 
all  you  say  about  Toby,  but  one  thing  in  your 
letter  puzzles  us.  Who  is  Charlie  Chaplin?  I 
have  heard  of  most  of  your  friends,  I  believe, 
but  I  can't  remember  a  Mr.  Chaplin.  Please 
tell  me. 

Poor  John,  I  sympathise  with  him.  It  is  ex- 
traordinary to  me,  that,  since  war  is  upon  us, 
any  one  should  not  want  to  fight  for  England 
against  these  terrible  Germans,  especially  now 
that  we  know  what  cruelties  and  injustice  they 
can  be  guilty  of  in  a  conquered  country.  But 
such  conduct  is  all  so  strange  to  me.  Your 
grandfather  and  I  had  such  a  happy  time  in  Dres- 
den many  years  ago.  We  met  a  number  of  very 
nice  people.  I  remember  a  Dr.  Pfeiffer  and  his 

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wife  who  were  most  kind,  although  they  had  an 
odd  way  of  cutting  up  their  food.  And  now  to 
think  of  the  wicked  things  that  Germans  can  do! 
It  is  all  most  bewildering. 

In  our  village,  I  regret  to  say,  there  is  no  feel- 
ing about  it.  I  asked  the  young  man  who  brings 
the  milk  if  he  were  not  going  to  enlist,  and  he 
replied  that  he  had  never  been  much  of  a  one  to 
fight.  But  the  Belgians!  I  said.  Wasn't  that 
dreadful1?  Ought  we  not  to  crush  such  a  foe  as 
Germany*?  He  replied  that  that  was  what  our 
army  and  navy  were  for,  and  he  didn't  see  there 
was  any  call  for  more  soldiers. 

I  am  glad  you  are  preparing  to  be  a  nurse. 
That  is  what  I  should  like  to  do  if  I  were  young 
and  active.  All  I  can  do  now  is  to  knit  and 
subscribe  a  little  to  the  chafities. 

What  are  we  to  do  about  poor  Kaiser*?  It  is 
bad  enough  for  him  to  be  a  dachshund,  for  the 
boys  throw  stones  at  him  and  he  has  not  been 
out  for  a  walk  for  weeks;  but  there  is  no  doubt 
that  we  shall  have  to  change  his  name.  It  is  very 
hard  for  a  dog  who  has  answered  to  one  name  for 
years  and  years  to  have  to  begin  another.  Anne 

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ha,s  had  the  clever  idea  that  if  we  call  him  Hi,  Sir ! 
it  will  be  so  near  the  old  name  in  sound  that  he 
won't  know  the  difference.  Poor  dog,  I  hope  he 
won't.  We  are  going  to  try  it,  anyway,  although 
it  is  ridiculous  to  call  a  dog  Sir;  but,  of  course, 
we  can't  put  anything  so  foolish  on  his  collar.  I 
am  sure  the  poor  darling  knows  that  something 
is  wrong. — Your  affectionate  GRANNY 

XXXVII 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

DEAREST  AND  MOST  IGNORANT  OF  GRAND- 
MOTHERS,— How  your  letter  has  made  me  laugh! 
Charlie  Chaplin  is  not  a  friend  of  mine ;  he  is  the 
great  funny  man  on  the  cinema  films.  It  just 
shows  how  far  away  you  live,  you  poor  benighted 
thing!  Charlie  Chaplin  is  said  to  make  thousands 
and  thousands  of  pounds  by  his  flat  feet  and 
grotesque  walk.  I  know  that  he  always  makes 
me  scream.  When  next  you  come  to  London 
you  will  see  cardboard  figures  of  him  outside  Pic- 
ture Palaces. 

[56] 


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I  told  Uncle  Richard  about  your  milkman.  He 
said  he  was  not  the  first  to  belong  to  the  Blue 
Water  School. — Your  loving  Vi. 

XXXVIII 

Miss  PORTIA  GREY  TO  Box  27 

DEAR  LONELY  SUB., — It  would  be  delightful 
if  I  could  bring  a  little  unloneliness  into  your  life 
by  writing  to  you;  but  I  find  it  very  difficult  to 
know  how  to  begin.  Indeed  I  have  been  trying 
for  a  fortnight.  It  is  so  long  indeed  that  perhaps 
you  are  not  lonely  any  more.  I  expect  there  were 
plenty  of  answers  to  your  advertisement  without 
mine. 

The  best  thing,  I  am  sure,  is  to  tell  you  about 
myself,  and  then  if  you  like  the  sound  of  me  per- 
haps you  will  tell  me  about  yourself.  I  may  say 
that  you  are  the  first  Lonely  Sub.  I  have  written 
to,  although  I  have  wanted  to  before,  but  could 
not  get  enough  courage.  But  I  am  sure  you  are 
really  in  need  of  letters,  and  also  are  nice,  because 
you  say  you  would  be  grateful.  I  don't  want  you 

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to  be  grateful  to  me,  but  so  few  people  ever  are 
grateful  for  anything. 

I  am  eighteen  and  have  just  left  school.  It 
was  a  very  jolly  school,  near  Datchet,  and  I  shall 
miss  it.  I  don't  quite  know  yet  what  I  am  going 
to  do,  but  father  wants  me  to.  do  something  and 
so  do  I.  He  has  an  idea  I  might  make  a  good 
gardener,  and  he  wants  me  to  be  outdoors.  I  had 
thought  about  being  a  doctor,  because  then  one 
does  more  for  other  people;  but  he  wants  me  to 
be  near  him  (you  see,  my  mother  is  dead  and 
there  are  only  us  two),  and  there  is  an  excellent 
place  close  to  us  where  lady-gardeners  are  taught 
— we  live  at  Ashford — and  he  needs  me  to  live 
near  him,  or  otherwise  I  should  of  course  have 
become  a  Red  Cross  nurse  or  something  useful 
long  ago. 

I  wonder  if  you  agree  with  me  that  one's  father 
is  more  important  to  be  cared  for  even  than 
wounded  soldiers'?  I  have  great  arguments  about 
it  with  my  friends,  and  nearly  all  say  that  nothing 
matters  now  but  soldiers,  and  that  everything 
should  be  done  for  them;  but  I  think  it  would  be 
very  unfair  to  leave  father  just  when  I  am  ready 

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to  be  his  companion  at  last.  I  should  like  to 
know  what  you  yourself,  as  a  soldier,  think. 
Please  be  honest  about  it.  As  you  don't  know 
me,  you  can  so  easily  be,  and  then  we  should 
begin  right. 

But  I  have  written  enough  for  a  first  letter. — 
Yours  truly,  PORTIA  GREY 

XXXIX 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — You  remember  the  clergy- 
man you  met  here  one  night?  Mr.  Lavington. 
Well,  to  every  one's  surprise  and  the  admiration 
of  a  few,  he  has  enlisted.  Not  as  a  chaplain  in  a 
dog  collar  under  his  khaki,  and  a  Picture  Palace 
cane,  as  I  have  seen  them  now  and  then  in  the 
streets, .  but  as  a  soldier.  He  has  a  lieutenancy 
and  goes  into  camp  at  once.  But  what  odd  crea- 
tures these  parsons  can  be!  He  came  himself  to 
tell  me,  and  I  congratulated  him  on  having  sev- 
ered his  connexion  with  professional  religion. 

"But  I  haven't,"  he  said. 

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"Surely,"  I  replied,  "you  can't  contemplate  re- 
suming your  clerical  duties  after  the  war*?" 

"Of  course,"  he  said. 

This  is  the  type  of  mind  that  paralyses  my 
own. 

"Then,"  I  said  at  last,  "you  are  still  a  believer 
in  the  gospel  of  Christ?" 

"Most  emphatically,"  he  said,  with  those  large 
blue  eyes  dilating. 

"All  I  can  say,"  I  replied  at  last,  "is  that  I 
envy  you.  I  wish  I  could  have  things  both  ways 
like  that.  Did  not  Christ  preach  and  profess 
peace  to  all  men1?  Don't  you  repeat  to  your  con- 
gregation again  and  again  the  text  about  the  other 
cheek"?  And  bid  them  forgive  their  enemies'? 
And  tell  them  to  pray  for  them  that  despitefully 
use  them?  Either  it  all  means  something  or  it 
does  not.  Either  you  believe  in  it  or  you  do 
not.  If  you  believe  in  it,  you  cease  to  be  as  com- 
plete a  Christian  as  we  look  to  our  clergy  to  be. 
and  you  certainly  have  no  right  to  bear  arms  for 
the  purpose  of  destroying  your  fellowmen." 

Mind,  if  Lavington  were  resigning  Orders  for 
ever  I  should  not  have  said  a  word  of  this  to  him. 

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It  was  his  intention  of  resuming  sheep's  clothing 
after  this  bloody  vulpine  interlude  that  amazed 
me. 

Then  he  began.  He  had  thought  it  all  out. 
This  was  a  righteous  war;  the  Allies  stand  for 
light  against  darkness.  (Never  before  would  he 
have  discerned  light  among  the  free-thinking 
French,  but  let  that  pass.)  We  must  approach 
Christ's  dicta  with  great  care.  Some  were  meant 
to  be  taken  literally  no  doubt;  others  were  not. 
Did  I  hold,  for  example,  that  one  should  pluck 
out  an  offending  eye?  Certainly  not.  That  was 
figurative,  symbolic,  and  no  doubt  the  remark 
about  the  other  cheek  also  was.  And  so  on. 

Well,  I  could  only  shake  hands  with  him  and 
wish  him  good  luck,  and  again  fall  to  wondering 
why  it  is  that  so  often  a  nicer  form  of  conscience 
seems  to  go  with  secularism  than  with  orthodoxy. 
But  is  it  any  marvel  that  abroad  the  English  have 
got  a  name  for  casuistry"? 

I  spent  part  of  a  wakeful  night  in  composing 
a  copy  of  verses  for  Lavington,  and  for  those  other 
professional  religionists,  far  below  him  in  public 
duty,  who  not  only  keep  in  the  running  now  by 

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their  lenient  attitude  to  fighting,  but,  looking  cun- 
ningly ahead,  realise  that  they  must  pave  the  way 
for  their  credit  in  peace  too.  But  I  did  not  send 
them.  Lavington  I  do  not  want  to  hurt;  and  the 
others  know  too  well  how  to  disregard  criticism. 

Instead,  it  amused  me  to  present  Lavington 
with  a  revolver.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  per- 
mit me  to  do  so,  and  he  said  yes  quite  simply. 

Here  are  the  verses,  for  your  own  reading: 

Christ  did  not  wish  that  men  might  be  like  Him — 
That  is  an  error  springing  who  knows  where? 

Christ's  purpose  was  that,  in  the  distance  dim, 
A  grand  ideal  planet-like  might  flare: 

Subject  for  praise,  or  theme  on  which  to  preach, 

But  never  meant  to  come  within  our  reach. 

The  very  essence  of  ideals  is 

That  they  should  hover  ever  overhead. 

To  be  translated  to  realities 

Immediately  kills  them.     They  are  dead; 

And  what  so  hapless,  sad,  and  tempest-tossed 

As  human  beings  with  ideals  lost? 

Christ  was  au  fond  (to  those  that  read  aright) 
A  warrior  who  thirsted  for  the  fray, 

Provided  that,  of  course,  the  call  to  fight 
Was  eminently  righteous   (as  to-day). 

[62] 


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Not  literally  should  His  words  be  taken, 
But  over  them  the  salt-box  must  be  shaken. 

The  "other  cheek" !    'Neath  policy  so  quaint 
What  empire  could  endure  a  moment's  space? 

For  Galilean  or  sequestered  saint, 

Possible,  yes — but  not  our  Island  Race. 

Times  change,  and  compromise  is  ever  rife, 

And  modern  life  is — well,  is  modern  life. 

The  nearest  we  can  get  to  what  He  willed — 
Compatible  with  reason — that  should  be 

Our  aim  by  day  and  night  until  fulfilled, 
Pursued  with  unremitting  industry. 

The  Master  (as  we  read  Him)  would  not  ask 

His  children  to  perform  a  sterner  task. 

So  then  upon  the  future  let  us  strive 

To  fix  our  thoughts,  nor  on  the  present  dwell. 

A  day  will  dawn  (for  those  still  left  alive) 

When  peace  will  come  and  all  once  more  be  well, 

And  Christianity  (less  suspect  then) 

Again  dispense  its  precious  balm  to  men. 

Three  or  four  men  to  whom  I  have  shown  these 
verses  have  complimented  me  on  the  effort  which 
they  make  to  get  at  the  truth.  But  none  of  these 
men  would  sign  a  document  calling  for  a  close 
time  for  the  creeds  until  the  war  is  over,  or  sug- 

[63] 


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gesting  that  our  Archbishops  were  not  at  the  mo- 
ment earning  their  not  inconsiderable  salaries. 
That  is  one  of  the  odd  things  about  England — 
that  private  conscience  and  the  public  conscience 
are  so  different.  In  France  a  typical  private  indi- 
vidual's view  of  things  is,  when  multiplied  in- 
definitely, also  the  view  of  the  State.  Not  so 
here,  where  as  individuals  we  practise  or  subscribe 
to  many  liberties  which  would  "not  be  good  for 
the  general  public." 

Oh  well,  of  course  it  doesn't  matter.  Nothing 
matters  now,  but  getting  this  war  won  and  over. 
But  how  I  should  like  to  see  a  close  time  for  all 
creeds,  and  self-reliance  set  in  their  place.  How  I 
should  like  to  see  all  intellects  now  busied  about 
the  next  world  forced  to  concentrate  on  the  bet- 
terment of  this ! 

This,  however,  will  not  happen  in  my  time ;  or 
in  Toby's;  or  in  Toby's  great-great-great-grand- 
son's. The  professional  religionists  will  be  too 
strong  for  us.  None  the  less  I  give  them  warn- 
ing. Some  lean  years  are  coming! — Yours, 

R. 

[64] 


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XL 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

DEAR  Miss  GREY, — Before  I  answer  your  very 
kind  and  very  interesting  letter,  which  I  may  say 
I  want  to  answer  very  much,  I  must  tell  you 
something  rather  horrid.  Especially  as  you  tell 
me  to  be  honest,  although  you  don't  mean  it  quite 
in  this  way.  The  fact  is,  that  advertisement  of 
mine  was  not  genuine.  Two  of  us  put  it  in  the 
Times,  one  each,  as  a  joke,  and  (I  may  as  well 
tell  you  everything)  there  was  a  beastly  bet  on 
it  as  to  which  of  us  got  most  replies. 

I  should  prefer  not  to  tell  you  all  this,  but  I 
feel  I  must. 

Well,  almost  the  first  letter  I  got  was  from  an 
old  lady  whose  son  had  been  killed,  and  who  sent 
me  her  last  unfinished  letter  which  she  had  been 
writing  when  the  news  came — instead  of  to  him, 
do  you  see*? — and  that  just  did  for  me,  and  I 
stopped  the  whole  business.  But  you  seem  to  have 
missed  my  second  advertisement,  and  I  am  glad 
you  did  because  I  like  your  letter  so  much. 


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Please  tell  me  if  I  may  write  again  now  that 
you  know  all. — Yours  truly, 

TOBY  STARR  (2nd  Lieut.) 

Care  of  Mrs.  Wickenden,  Ivy  Cottage,  Ames- 
bury. 

XLI 

.    PORTIA  GREY  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  MR.  STARR, — Thank  you  for  your  frank 
letter.    Please  answer  mine. — Yours  truly, 

PORTIA  GREY 

XLII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — It  seems  that  the  Thirty- 
nine  Articles  take  full  cognisance  of  war  and  that 
the  clergy  are  thereby  authorised  to  fight  in  a 
just  cause.  No.  37  not  only  exonerates  them  but 
makes  it  necessary  if  they  are  called  for.  So 
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their  lordships,  the  Bishops — our  modern  Gali- 
leans— sitting  for  the  illustrated  papers  in  full 
khaki  uniform,  are  not  such  deplorable  anomalies 
as  I  have  been  thinking  them,  and  Lavington's 
case  is  to  some  extent  altered — or  would  be,  if  he 
had  pleaded  such  sanction ;  which  he  did  not.  In 
fact,  I  don't  think  he  had  realised  it.  But  it  does 
not  eliminate  the  element  of  irony. 

My  feeling  now  is,  since  the  volte  face  is  so 
lawful,  that  all  parsons  of  military  age  should  at 
once  join  up  and  fight,  and  so  become  indeed  the 
"black  dragoons"  that  John  Sterling  called  them. 
If  one  here  and  there,  why  not  all?  I  feel  sure 
we  shall  want  every  one  in  time,  for  I  believe 
in  Kitchener  and  his  three  years.  In  Germany 
there  is  already  public  talk  of  a  new  Christianity 
which  shall  walk  openly  side  by  side  with  martial 
aggrandisement — as  it  does  now,  and  not  in  Ger- 
many alone.  The  readjustment  of  our  Church's 
position  may  not  be  the  least  of  the  Kaiser's  un- 
intentional benefits  to  mankind. 

Moreover,  if  all  the  parsons  of  military  age 
went  off  it  would  rid  myriad  country  livings  of 
idle,  vigorous  young  men  with  almost  nothing  to 

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dp.    Such  sinecures  should  be  kept  as  rewards  for 
older  and  real  workers  in  cities,  anyway. 

I  heard  this  morning  of  the  death  at  the  front 
of  two  of  my  oldest  friends — Jack  Cazalet,  who 
was  at  school  with  me,  and  Sandford  Thrale, 
whom  I  knew  at  Oxford.  Both  went  straight  into 
the  army,  but  we  had  kept  up.  Thrale  leaves  a 
widow  and  practically  nothing  for  her  to  live 
on,  for  he  has  had  nothing  but  his  army  pay 
all  his  life.  Cazalet  was  just  engaged  to  a  very 
nice  woman.  All  the  best  men  are  being  killed. 
The  horrible  thought  is  that  the  new  England  is 
to  be  populated  by  a  cautious  middling-class  lot. 
It  will  always  be  a  splendid  thought  that  the 
aristocrats,  who  are  supposed  to  be  keenest  on 
the  good  things  of  life,  never  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment.— Yours,  R.  H. 

XLIII 

DICK  BERNAL  TO  His  COUSIN   AND  FIANCEE, 
OLIVE  WISTON 

MY  DARLINGEST, — I  have  had  a  most  brilliant 
idea  which  came  to  me  this  morning  while  I  was 
[68] 


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shaving.  Why  shouldn't  we  be  married  at  once"? 
I  am  sure  I  should  fight  much  better  if  I  was 
fighting  for  a  wife  than  merely  for  my  country. 
I  have  got  to  fight  for  my  country  whatever 
happens,  because  that's  my  business;  but  to  fight 
for  you  as  well  would  make  such  a  difference! 
My  sword  would  be  twice  as  sharp  then  and  my 
aim  twice  as  good.  I  only  wish  officers  were 
allowed  bayonets,  because  that  is  when  fighting 
for  any  one  must  really  tell — jabbing  is  so  much 
more  satisfactory  than  slashing  or  pulling  a  trig- 
ger. 

I'm  sure  my  people  would  like  me  to  be  mar- 
ried quickly,  and  Aunt  Kate  too;  but  I  am  a  lit- 
tle doubtful  about  Uncle  George.  Tell  me  what 
you  think,  my  sweetest.  DICK 


DEAR  Miss  GREY, — What  a  brick  you  are ! 
I  absolutely  agree  with  you  about  staying  with 
your  father.    There  are  such  lots  of  things  to  be 

[69] 


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dqne  for  soldiers  too,  at  home,  without  becoming 
a  nurse,  and  I  expect  you  are  doing  some  of  them. 

I  am  a  year  older  than  you.  I  was  at  Win- 
chester, and  have  been  at  Oxford  for  a  year,  but 
left  it  to  join  the  army.  My  father  is  a  staff 
officer  in  France,  but  he  did  not  much  want  me 
to  be  a  soldier.  All  the  same  he  is  now  glad 
that  I  am.  So  is  my  mother,  although  I  am  her 
only  child. 

Our  home  is  near  Newbury.  My  mother  is  all 
alone  there,  but  as  she  practically  runs  the  village 
she  is  all  right.  Please  don't  think  because  of  my 
last  letter  that  I  am  in  no  need  of  correspondence. 
I  am.  Life  is  fairly  dull  here,  but,  thank  Heaven, 
one  gets  fearfully  tired,  or  I  don't  know  how  the 
evenings  would  be  got  through. 

I  think  Portia  is  a  ripping  name. — Yours  truly, 

TOBY  STARR 

P.S. — A  cousin  of  mine  was  at  a  girls'  school 
near  Datchet.  Her  name  is  Violet  Lastways.  I 
wonder  whether  it's  the  same  place. 


[70] 


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XLV 

TOBY  STARR  TO  VIOLET  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  Vi, — I  wish  you  would  tell  me  whether 
there  was  a  girl  at  your  school  named  Portia  Grey, 
and  if  so,  what  she  was  like. — Yours,  TOBY 

XLVI 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  DIGBY  BERNAL 

DEAR  DIGBY, — From  what  I  hear  from  men 
of  high  standing  and  inner  knowledge  we  shall 
never  win  this  war  unless  the  authorities  have  the 
courage  to  scrap  three  generals  in  every  four.  But 
we  have  always  been  criminally  tolerant  and 
good-natured  and  have  fostered  the  practice  of 
protecting  the  inept,  and  now  the  chickens  come 
home  to  roost.  I  heard  a  story,  which  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  is  true,  illustrating  this, 
only  yesterday.  A  German  sniper  who  was  taken 
prisoner  was  asked  if  they  had  any  reward  for 
good  shots,  and  he  replied  that  they  had,  and  then 

[71] 


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gave  the  scale.  Ten  marks  if  you  killed  an  Eng- 
lish private;  twenty  for  a  sergeant;  thirty  for  a 
lieutenant;  and  forty  for  a  captain.  But  if  you 
killed  a  commanding  officer  you  were  punished, 
he  said,  because  they  are  so  useful  to  the  Ger- 
mans! So  there  you  are. 

If  only  we  had  a  firm  and  capable  man  at  the 
head  of  affairs  instead  of  all  these  invertebrates, 
or  scheming  lawyers,  we  should  never  have  been 
in  this  mess.  Some  one  like  Dizzy.  But  those 
great  days  are  past. 

I  am  sending  a  letter  to  this  effect  to  all  the 
more  open-minded  and  critical  papers  for  to-mor- 
row's issue.  I  have  entitled  it,  "Remember 
Byng,"  and  it  is  signed  "Dracon."  Please  look 
out  for  it. — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 


XLVII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  SIR  VINCENT  STARR 

DEAR  VINCENT, — These  are  bad  times  for  vig- 
orous men  over  military  age.     I  never  pretended 

[72] 


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to  be  much  of  an  athlete;  but  even  I  feel  as  if 
I  could  do  more  than  the  War  Office  believes. 
Still  I  am  old  enough  also  to  trust  the  authorities. 

To-day  I  met  your  friend  Stirling  Mowatt  and 
found  him  horribly  hipped.  This  is  more  or  less 
what  happened. 

"What  is  it?'  I  asked. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I'm  done  for,  useless.  I'm 
forty-six,  and  that's  the  devil  just  now.  I'm  as 
fit  as  I  ever  was  in  my  life,  but  the  War  Office 
won't  look  at  me.  Forty-six  is  impossible !  'But 
I  can  walk  thirty  miles  a  day,'  I  tell  them.  'Not 
with  all  the  accoutrements,'  they  say.  'I'm  a 
member  of  the  Alpine  Club,'  I  tell  them.  'You're 
over  age,'  they  say.  'I'm  stronger  than  any  of 
your  twenty-year-old  recruits,'  I  tell  them. 
'You're  forty-six,'  they  say.  And  it's  true !" 

"Then  the  new  regiment  of  Sportsmen  came 
along,"  he  continued,  "and  I  tried  them.  No 
good.  Forty-five  is  their  maximum.  So  there  it 
is!  I'm  done — useless.  No  one  wanted  to  help 
more  than  I  did,  and  I  can  do  absolutely  noth- 
ing." 

[73] 


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"I'll  bet  you've  done  a  lot,"  I  said,  "if  you 
would  only  confess." 

"I  tell  you  I've  done  absolutely  nothing,"  he 
repeated  testily.  "I'm  no  use." 

"But  surely  you're  on  a  dozen  committees?"  I 
said. 

"No,"  he  said,  "not  one." 

"Then  you  have  started  a  Fund?  Some  minor 
fund  guaranteed  not  to  divert  any  money  from  the 
big  ones'?" 

"No." 

"But  of  course  you've  written  to  the  papers'?" 
I  went  on. 

"No." 

"Not  about  anything?  Not  to  make  the  Gov- 
ernment buck  up  about  blankets,  or  squashing  Ger- 
man lies,  or  allowing  correspondents  at  the  front, 
or  anything  like  that?" 

"No." 

"But  surely  you  have  views  as  to  the  better 
management  of  things?  The  Press  Bureau,  for 
instance.  Haven't  you  pitched  into  that?" 

"No." 

"Not  even  clamoured  for  all  Germans  in  this 

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country,  even  the  naturalised  ones,  to  be  shot? 
Surely  you've  harried  the  Home  Office  a  bit*?" 

"No." 

"Well,  you  must  at  least  have  published  a 
scheme  for  the  partition  of  Europe  after  the 
war?' 

"No;  I  never  wrote  to  the  papers  in  my  life." 

I  shook  his  hand. 

"Good  heavens!"  I  said,  "and  this  is  the  man 
who  grumbles  'because  he  has  done  nothing  for 
his  country." 

I  wish  old  George  would  follow  his  example. 

I  saw  Toby  when  he  was  in  town  on  a  flying 
visit  to  have  his  hair  cut  last  week — or  that  is 
what  I  accused  him  of.  He  and  his  mother  al- 
lowed me  to  give  them  lunch.  He  looks  in  splen- 
did form. 

I  suppose,  being  a  Red  Tab,  you  are  by  now 
inured  to  sarcasm.  George  says  that  there  is  not 
a  man  on  the  Staff  who  knows  his  job! 

The  Charity  appeal  business  is  being  a  little 
overdone;  but  that  of  course  is  English.  We  al- 
ways overdo  everything.  The  results,  however, 
show  what  a  lot  of  money  there  is  in  the  country 

[75] 


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and  how  much  generosity.  I  am  a  little  doubtful 
as  to  the  cigarettes,  for  when  I  was  younger  and 
went  into  training  for  anything,  smoking  was  the 
first  thing  that  was  knocked  off.  A  stranger  would 
almost  think  that  this  war  was  being  run  in  the 
interests  of  the  tobacco  trade.  Do  you  all  really 
smoke  all  day  *? — Yours,  R.  H. 

XLVIII 

OLIVE  WISTON  TO  DICK  BERNAL 

MY  DARLING  DICK, — Father  won't  hear  of  it. 
I  needn't  go  into  all  his  objections,  but  he  is  firm 
as  a  rock,  and  though  I  don't  agree,  and  mother 
doesn't  agree,  still  I  am  his  daughter  and  feel  that 
whether  he  knows  best  or  not  he  has  the  right  to 
dictate.  We  must  wait  till  the  war  is  over,  he 
says;  which  means,  if  his  view  of  the  war  is  a 
true  one,  for  you  know  how  gloomy  he  is,  we 
shall  be  drawn  to  the  altar  in  bath-chairs.  O  my 
dear,  I  am  so  sorry,  but  we  must  be  brave  about 
it.  I  saw  poor  Ruth  yesterday.  Terence's  regi- 
ment is  in  action  and  she  is  in  a  terrible  state  of 

[76] 


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nerves;  but  she  does  her  best  to  keep  up.  The 
only  hopeful  news  I  can  give  is  that  mother  is 
going  to  do  what  she  can  in  our  interest  with 
Uncle  Richard. — Your  adoring  OLIVE 

XLIX 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — I  think  I  got  in  a  good  thrust 
last  night.  Among  the  people  staying  here  is  a 
knut.  He  must  be  almost  the  last  of  the  tribe; 
but  here  he  is,  just  as  knutty  as  though  the  Algies 
and  Berties  were  still  ruling  the  roast,  and  not 
Mars  at  all.  Why  he  has  not  volunteered  no  one 
seems  to  know,  and  it  is  hardly  a  question  that 
I,  with  my  fantastic  respect  for  other  people's 
right  to  do  as  they  like,  should  ask  him.  None 
the  less,  on  discovering  that  he  is  perfectly  sound 
in  mind  and  limb,  I  permitted  myself  a  sidelong 
remark  or  two  on  the  subject  of  youth,  vigour, 
and  armaments,  and  was  so  successful  that  he 
fitted  the  cap  on  himself  and  suddenly  turned  to 
me,  red  with  anger,  asking  if  I  meant  to  insult 

[77] 


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him.  Then  came  one  of  those  inspirations  which 
are  rarer  than  angels'  visits:  I  mean  rarer  at  the 
exact  moment  when  one  wants  them,  for  I  get 
them  often  enough  on  the  escalier.  "I  wish  I 
could,"  I  said,  "but  it  evidently  needs  a  greater 
power  than  I,  since  the  Germans  haven't  suc- 
ceeded.'* 

I  am  always  on  the  look  out  for  war  anecdotes 
for  you;  but  very  few  are  really  good,  and  those 
quickly  become  too  familiar.  Meanwhile  I  spare 
you  the  absolutely  true  story  of  the  governess  who 
was  a  spy  (which  succeeded  the  mythical  Rus- 
sians), because  as  it  has  happened  to  a  personal 
friend  of  every  one  you  must  have  heard  it. 

I  used  very  much  to  resent  Kipling's  line  in 
which  he  calls  soldiering  "the  lordliest  life  on 
earth,"  but  I  am  beginning  to  feel  that  (as  usual) 
here  too  he  knows  more  than  I  do,  for  there  is 
not  one  of  all  the  young  men  and  older  men  that 
I  know  who  have  joined  the  army  or  returned  to 
it  who  is  not  already  twice  the  fellow  he  was. 
I  was  enormously  struck  by  Toby's  maturity  and 
fitness  the  other  day.  Bless  him ! — Yours  ever, 

R. 
[78] 


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P.S. — I  left  this  letter  behind  me  this  morn- 
ing and  am  not  sorry,  for  it  enables  me  to  add 
to  it. 

As  to  my  score  off  that  young  knut,  I  have 
quite  ceased  to  be  proud  of  it.  Thinking  on  the 
matter  during  the  day,  it  seems  to  me  that  old 
people  like  myself  ought  to  be  very  sure  of  our- 
selves before  we  taunt  the  young  with  backward- 
ness. To  begin  with,  it  cannot  seem  to  them  to 
be  so  natural  a  thought,  as  it  is  to  us,  that  the 
young  and  inexperienced  are  the  bulwark  of  the 
country  in  times  of  danger.  We  take  it  for 
granted;  but  why  should  they?  And  there  is 
something  really  offensive  in  the  safe  forties  and 
fifties  pushing  the  twenties  towards  the  firing 
line — the  ardent,  thoughtless  twenties,  for  whom, 
only  yesterday,  life  was  going  to  be  such  a  lark! 
We  have  not  perhaps  thought  enough  of  what 
these  boys  are  giving  up,  most  of  them  without 
a  murmur.  No,  I  have  retired  definitely  from 
the  recruiting  business — at  any  rate  with  the  lever 
of  scorn  to  assist  me. 

All  the  same,  that  knut  was  rather  a  poisonous 
little  beast. 

[79] 


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ANNE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  UNCLE  RICHARD, — Granny  says  won't 
you  come  and  see  her  soon"?  She  wants  to  talk 
about  money  and  see  what  she  can  spare  for  the 
Prince  of  Wales'  Fund  and  other  things.  Do 
come.  I  want  to  see  you  too  and  discuss  another 
matter — Olive's  marriage  to  Dick.  As  you  per- 
haps know,  Dick's  regiment  may  have  to  go  out 
very  soon  now  and  he  wants  to  marry  first.  There 
are  things  to  be  said  on  both  sides,  of  course. 

Poor  Granny  cannot  understand  the  war  at  all. 
She  goes  about  wondering  how  the  world  can  be 
so  wicked,  and  why  it  is  not  all  stopped.  I  asked 
her  who  was  to  stop  it,  but  she  could  not  say; 
but  at  the  back  of  her  mind  is,  of  course,  the 
thought  that  God  ought  to.  It  seems  to  me  that 
more  than  ever  will  the  simple  have  to  find  com- 
fort, if  they  can,  in  the  text  about  babes  and 
sucklings. — Your  loving  niece,  ANNE 


[80] 


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LI 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  TOBY, — Portia  Grey  was  a  darling.  She 
is  fairly  tall,  with  very  dark  hair  and  very  red 
lips.  Her  father,  I  believe,  is  an  artist  and  rather 
an  invalid  too.  She  bowled  horribly  fast  and 
won  all  our  matches  for  us. — Yours,  Vi. 

LII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 

DEAR  SUTHERLAND, — You  are  missing  a  lot  by 
being  away  from  England  now.  You  would  be 
intensely  interested  in  studying  us,  even  if  you 
were  saddened  too.  We  really  are  a  very  odd 
people.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  one  is 
dimly  conscious  of  it.  Under  war  it  is  blazingly 
evident.  Our  tendency,  which  seems  to  be  sec- 
ond nature,  to  belittle  and  depreciate  our  picked 
men — the  men  we  ourselves  have  picked — is  most 
striking  and  would  be  alarming  if  one  was  not 

[81] 


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certain  that  so  much  of  it  is  only  words,  and  that 
our  best  brains,  the  brains  that  lie  deepest  and 
serve  as  our  ultimate  court  of  appeal,  are  not  mo- 
mentarily in  alliance  with  our  tongues.  When  the 
war  is  over  some  of  us  ought  to  remember  our 
attitude  during  its  more  critical  periods  with 
shame,  but  we  shall  not,  because  it's  part  of  the 
British  heritage  to  remember  nothing:  least  of 
all  our  own  shortcomings  and  the  injuries  done 
to  us  by  our  enemies.  Our  delight  in  forgiving 
is  exceeded  only  by  our  facility  in  forgetting. 

Countries  can  be  too  free — and  especially  does 
one  feel  this  when  one  realises  that  there  can 
never  be  any  such  thing  as  a  free  country.  Had 
I  been  autocrat  I  should  have  stopped  every  news- 
paper instantly  and  issued  the  necessary  news  in 
a  Government  gazette,  for  that  the  press  also  can 
be  too  free  we  now  know  only  too  well.  My 
experience  of  journalists  is  that,  much  as  I  like 
them,  very  few  are  to  be  trusted  with  liberty. 
One  reason  is  that  they  so  rarely  have  any  real 
feelings  or  convictions.  I  have  known  many 
journalists,  but  hardly  one  who  was  not  either  a 
cynic  or  an  axe-grinder,  or  both ;  and  all,  of  course, 

[82] 


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are,  by  the  nature  of  their  calling,  middlemen 
and  busybodies. 

These  appalling  casualty  lists  make  one  think, 
don't  they?  Here  are  men  dying  by  thousands, 
all  justifiably  slaughtered,  and  no  one  to  be  called 
to  order  for  the  killing,  but  rather  to  receive  deco- 
rations and  glory.  And  then  one  remembers  the 
hue  and  cry  after  Dr.  Crippen  a  few  months  ago; 
two  hemispheres  in  pursuit  of  one  little  myopic 
sensualist  who  had  merely  "done  in"  a  superflu- 
ous wife! — Yours,  R.  H. 

LIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  will  come  down  very 
shortly — next  week  for  certain,  probably  on 
Thursday.  Don't  trouble  your  dear  old  head  over 
the  why  and  wherefore  of  the  war.  Only  re- 
member that  this  planet  will  be  a  slightly  better 
place  after  it:  because  there's  no  doubt  of  that. 
Just  at  the  moment  it  has  gone  mad. — Your  lov- 
ing R. 

[83] 


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LIV 

MRS.  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — I  want  your  advice. 
Olive,  as  you  know,  has  been  engaged  to  Dick 
since  June,  and  now  Dick's  regiment  is  going  to 
France.  The  question  is,  should  they  marry  at 
once,  as  they  want  to,  or  wait  till  after  the  war? 
I  wish  I  knew  what  to  think.  George  is  firm 
about  postponement.  As  he  says,  very  justly,  if 
Dick  is  killed,  Olive  will  be  a  widow,  and  proba- 
bly will  remain  a  widow  for  ever,  for  after  the 
war  there  will  be  too  few  men.  You  know 
George's  hard  don't-dare-to-contradict-me  style. 
He  also  says  that  since  Dick  will  be  away  righting, 
they  may  just  as  well  wait,  because  they  would 
see  nothing  of  each  other.  He  will  not  realise 
that  both  would  be  happier  if  they  were  married. 
As  for  the  future,  I  feel,  as  I  never  felt  before, 
that  that  must  take  care  of  itself. 

Do  tell  me  what  your  view  is. 

How  fortunate  you  must  think  yourself  to  be  a 

[84] 


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bachelor  in  these  times!     I  know  many  parents 
who  suffer  agonies  daily. — Your  loving 

KATE 


LV 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

MY  DEAREST  KATE, — My  advice  is  all  in  fa- 
vour of  Dick  and  Olive  marrying  at  once,  as  so 
many  other  soldiers  are  doing.  Not  only  would 
they  be  happier,  as  you  say,  but,  to  put  the  mat- 
ter bluntly,  England  is  going  to  be  in  great  need 
of  children. 

Not  so  much  of  your  felicitations  to  me  on  be- 
ing alone  and  childless!  Marriage  and  children 
are  not  for  all,  but  there  are  times  when  even 
the  most  resolute  single  beings  can  feel  wistful  and 
parental.  The  other  day  in  a  restaurant  I 
watched  a  father  and  son  together,  and  I  have 
not  forgotten  it  yet.  The  father  was  about  fifty 
(or  my  age) ;  the  son,  obviously  a  young  officer, 
although  in  civilian  clothes,  about  twenty-six.  It 
was  charming  to  see  the  solicitude  with  which  the 

[85] 


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father  pressed  the  son  to  eat,  and  the  little  fur- 
tive affectionate  touches  of  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  arm  and  shoulder.  They  had  half  a 
grilled  chicken,  and  it  was  the  son  who  ate  the 
wing  and  breast.  Afterwards  the  waiter  brought 
cigars  in  a  number  of  boxes  of  different  kinds, 
and  the  son  took  a  small  one.  The  father  gave 
it  back  and  insisted  on  a  corona  taking  its  place, 
but  he  himself  smoked  only  a  cigarette.  It  was 
all  very  pretty,  and  I  think  it  needed  the  war 
to  bring  it  out.  Without  the  war  there  would 
have  been  as  much  pride  and  affection,  may  be, 
but  the  father  would  have  been  at  once  less  con- 
scious of  it  and  more  ashamed  of  it.  The  war 
emphasised  it,  made  it  all  more  articulate  and 
much  more  poignant.  Well,  I  hope  that  young 
fellow  may  come  safely  through,  for  both  their 
sakes. 

The  odd  thing  is  that  this  is  the  first  time  I 
have  really  wanted  a  son.  But  even  with  such 
pain  and  dread  in  his  heart,  I  sat  there  and  en- 
vied that  father.  Envied  him  not  only  his  trem- 
ors, but  his  opportunity  of  giving  a  son  to  his 
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flag.     So  you  see  that  the  war  is  making  me  a 
sentimentalist    too! — Your   affectionate   brother, 

RICHARD 


LVI 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — Of  course  you  have  heard 
the  story  of  the  soldier  and  the  angels  at  Mons. 
If  not,  I  will  tell  it  to  you;  and  if  you  have,  I 
will  (like  our  old  friend  Livesey,  who  cannot  be 
deterred  once  he  has  wound  himself  up  to  be 
anecdotal)  tell  it  you  none  the  less.  "Do  I  be- 
lieve in  the  angels  at  Mons1?",  the  soldier  replied, 
"Of  course  I  do.  Why,  I  was  so  near  them  that 
I  distinctly  recognised  my  aunt." 

One  hears  a  great  deal  about  the  change  in 
character  which  experiences  at  the  front  are  to 
effect  in  our  men.  But  I  doubt  if  there  will  be 
much  of  it.  Most  men,  I  imagine,  will  bring 
back  almost  exactly  what  they  took  out;  war  will 
be  only  skin  deep.  That  at  any  rate  is  true  of 
most  of  those  that  I  have  met  and  talked  with. 

[87] 


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But,  of  course,  a  young  man  wounded  and  in- 
valided home  after  the  first  engagement  might 
carry  the  traces  longer.  Custom  would  not  have 
blunted  things  for  him. 

One  effect  of  the  war  at  home  is  to  emphasise 
any  natural  tendency  to  satire  or  scorn  that  one 
may  possess,  don't  you  find1?  I  expect  you  do,  for 
you  and  I  are  very  much  alike.  First  there  is  the 
monstrous  folly  of  the  whole  thing — the  failure 
of  mankind  to  get  any  wiser,  the  failure  of  Chris- 
tianity to  modify  and  control  elemental  cruelties 
and  rapacities.  And  then  there  are  the  particular 
disenchantments — the  muddle,  the  jealousies,  the 
littlenesses.  And  England  is  peculiarly  adapted 
for  the  exhibition,  even  exploitation,  of  these  last, 
for  we  have  an  unbridled  press  into  which  any 
petty  person  may  pour  his  grievances  and  cen- 
sures. If  one  were  oneself  able  to  fight  or  bt 
active  in  some  large  way,  no  doubt  one  would 
forget.  Affairs  would  absorb  one's  mind.  And  to 
be  that  most  deadly  of  all  ages,  forty-eight,  and 
feel  only  thirty-five :  that  is  an  aggravation  of  the 
disease.  No  wonder  that  cynics  multiply. — 
Yours,  R. 

[88] 


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P.S. — Here  is  a  mite  for  your  collection.  A 
soldier's  letter  (official)  : 

"DEAR  MOTHER, — This  comes  hoping  it  finds 
you  as  it  leaves  me  at  present.  I  have  a  broken 
leg  and  a  bullet  in  my  left  arm. — Your  affect,  son, 

TOM  SMITH" 


LVII 

LADY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — I  dare  say  you  are  right 
about  our  soldiers — even  the  New  Army  ones — 
not  being  much  changed  in  character  by  the  war ; 
although,  of  course,  many  of  them,  I  mean  in 
particular  the  indoor  types,  will  get  a  broadening 
that  will  make  desk  routine  very  irksome  after- 
wards and  perhaps  will  drive  them  back  to  the 
land  or  to  the  Colonies.  But  that,  of  course,  is 
superficial :  broadening  rather  than  deepening. 

But  I  am  quite  sure  that  changes  are  going  on 
in  our  characters  at  home.  I  notice  much  more 
fatalism  among  the  people  here,  and  also  more 

[89] 


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courage.  For  example,  there  is  a  great  diminution 
of  ailment  talk.  Even  happy  valetudinarians  like 
Sir  Rowland  Oliver,  who  used  to  delight  in  new 
maladies,  have  given  it  up,  feeling,  I  suppose,  that 
with  men  dying  in  such  numbers,  and  suffering 
such  wounds  and  mutilations  for  their  country, 
every  day,  it  is  indecent  to  mention  little  personal 
ailments.  Not  a  bad  thing.  My  cook  under  the 
same  influence  is  now  quite  silent  about  her  rheu- 
matism. I  mentioned  to  her  that  she  seemed  to 
have  lost  it;  but  that  was  an  error  of  tact  on  my 
part.  Oh  no,  she  said,  she  hadn't  lost  it.  Far 
from  it.  Far  from  it  indeed.  She  was  just  the 
martyr  she  had  always  been.  But  she  couldn't 
mention  such  a  trifle  when  our  brave  lads  were 
suffering  in  the  trenches. — Your  loving 

HELEN 

LVIII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

DEAR  Miss  GREY, — There  is  one  thing  you 
don't  tell  me  in  your  letter  about  yourself,  and 

[90] 


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that  is  that  you  are  fond  of  cricket.  So  am  I. 
Indeed  there  was  quite  a  chance,  I  was  told,  that 
I  might  have  got  my  Blue  next  season,  and  now 
no  one  knows  when  there  will  be  a  next  season. 
I'm  so  glad  the  cricketers  knocked  off  so  quickly. 
Very  different  from  some  of  the  other  so-called 
sportsmen. 

If  there  is  ever  county  cricket  again  will  you 
let  me  take  you  to  Lord's"?  That  would  be  some- 
thing to  look  forward  to. 

I  am  very  busy  from  early  in  the  morning  till 
dinner-time,  and  after  dinner  I  ought  to  be  busy 
too,  reading  tactics,  but  I  am  too  dog-tired.  I 
had  no  idea  before  that  war  was  so  fascinating. 
I  had  thought  of  it  almost  wholly  as  firing  can- 
non and  rifles  and  charging;  but  it's  all  so  hu- 
man too,  like  a  magnificent  glorified  chess:  full 
of  problems  and  the  necessity  of  thinking  about 
what  the  other  fellow  may  be  thinking  about.  I 
am  beginning  to  get  a  quite  new  notion  of  gen- 
erals. And  what  a  terrific  swell  Napoleon  was! 
I  can  see  that  now. 

It  makes  me  wish  so  that  we  had  had  a  mili- 
tary class  at  school  and  Oxford — strategy,  you 

[91] ' 


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know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  with  maps  like 
Belloc's  to  make  it  plain — so  that  we  could  all 
be  readier  for  it  now.  Perhaps  in  the  future  they 
will. 

Please  tell  me  what  kind  of  things  your  father 
paints.  I  have  asked  one  or  two  men  here  who 
reckon  to  be  nuts  on  art  if  they  know  his  work, 
but  they  seem  only  to  know  a  man  named  Raphael 
Kirchner,  who  they  all  swear  by.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  art,  but  I  know  what  I  like.  Some 
of  the  new  men  who  call  themselves  Cubists  and 
what  not  give  me  the  stomachache.  Pictures 
ought  to  be  either  beautiful  or  jolly,  I  think. 

I  hope  you  will  find  time  to  answer  this. — 
Yours  sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

P.S. — What  kind  of  dogs  have  you  got? 


DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — Mother  is  in  the  seventh 
heaven  to-day,  for  she  has  at  last  got  a  promise 

[92] 


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from  some  one  with  a  title,  who  has  got  a  prom- 
ise from  some  one  still  higher  up,  that  the  Queen 
will  visit  our  hospital  supply  depot  and  not  the 
other.  There  has  been  tremendous  competition, 
but  mother's  lot  having  won,  the  rival  place  will 
have  to  put  up  with  a  Princess. 

Mother  is  wonderful  there.  You  know  how  she 
hates  any  kind  of  needlework  at  home;  but  there 
she  will  sit,  in  a  white  head-dress  like  an  abbess, 
making  swabs  and  bandages  and  quilting  pneu- 
monia jackets  by  the  hour.  And  often  there's  a 
Duchess  on  one  side  of  her  and  an  Honourable 
on  the  other.  She  has  never  had  such  luck  before. 

The  excitement  here  is  whether  Dick,  who  may 
have  to  go  to  France  any  day,  shall  marry  Olive 
before  he  goes,  practically  instantly,  or  wait. 
Dick  is  all  for  marrying  right  away;  but  the 
Wistons  seem  to  be  divided.  I  want  him  to 
marry  at  once  too,  because  then  he  might  be  put 
on  to  some  job  of  training  recruits  here  on  ac- 
count of  being  married ;  but  I  know  that  this  view 
is  selfish. 

I  am  now  busy  at  a  canteen  at  Charing  Cross 
for  part  of  every  day ;  and  I  should  really  like  it 

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if  it  were  not  for  the  draughts.    My  latest  theory- 
is  that  all  colds  begin  at  railway  stations. 

The  soldiers  are  so  funny  in  their  politeness. 
They  would,  I  am  sure,  be  much  happier  if  we 
were  real  barmaids,  and  for  their  sakes  I  wish  we 
were.  They  take  such  pains,  some  of  them,  to 
eat  nicely,  and  they  have  such  terrible  difficulty 
in  remembering  where  they  are  and  leaving  out 
adjectives.  It's  very  hard  on  a  man  with  a  good 
story  to  tell,  just  as  if  he  was  in  a  bar,  having  all 
of  a  sudden  to  spoil  it  because  of  us.  They're 
so  grateful  too,  some  of  them;  but  that  really 
hurts.  Fancy  being  grateful  for  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  bun  when  they've  been  risking  their  lives 
for  us  and  England!  In  future  it  is  ingratitude 
that  I  shan't  mind — the  War  has  taught  me  that. 
— Your  loving  NANCY 

LX 

MRS.  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  wish  I  could  get  George 
to  agree;  but  he  has  become  very  difficult  since 

[94] 


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the  war  broke  out,  and  takes  no  interest  in  any- 
thing but  his  country's  deplorable  plight,  as  he 
views  it.  I  am  sure  he  goes  too  much  to  the  club, 
where  there  seems  always  to  be  some  one  who 
knows  that  the  worst  is  in  store  for  us. 

I  should  like  Olive  and  Dick  to  marry,  for  their 
happiness  as  well  as  the  reason  which  you  give — 
which  makes  it  all  so  utilitarian  and  physiological. 
I  am  sure  he  would  not  be  a  worse  soldier  for 
knowing  that  he  had  a  sweet  young  wife  waiting 
for  him  at  home. 

I  wonder  if  you  would  mind  very  much  coming 
soon  for  the  night  and  talking  to  George  about 
it?  He  rarely  sleeps  in  town  now,  but  catches 
the  6.15. — Your  loving  KATE 

LXI 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  GEORGE  WISTON 

DEAR  GEORGE, — About  these  young  people. 
Since  you  have  given  your  consent  to  the  mar- 
riage, why  object  to  an  immediate  wedding?  If 
Dick  never  comes  back,  there  may  still  be  an- 


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other  English  citizen,  and  its  parents  will  have 
been  happy.  If  he  does  come  back,  all  will  be  as 
it  would  have  been.  If  you  take  my  advice  you 
will  say  yes  and  hurry  the  thing  along,  for  every 
one's  sake. — Yours,  R.  H. 

LXII 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — If  you  viewed  the  war  as  I 
do  you  would  write  differently.  But  you  have 
not  my  opportunities  for  getting  at  the  truth;  I 
meet  regularly  a  number  of  specially  informed 
men.  The  odds  against  Dick's  return  to  England 
are  enormous,  such  is  the  terrible  toll  that  will  be 
exacted  of  our  trifling  force.  We  shall  be  used 
up  in  no  time,  if  only  as  a  shield  for  the  French, 
for  Joffre  means  to  save  every  Frenchman  he  can. 
Naturally  I  do  not  view  with  any  particular 
pleasure  the  idea  of  Olive  as  a  widow  permanently 
on  my  hands;  for  there  won't  be  enough  husbands 
to  go  round  for  the  single  girls,  let  alone  widows, 
when  (if  ever)  this  war  is  over;  and  Digby  is  not 

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in  a  position  to  do  anything  for  his  daughter-in- 
law.  Surely  you  see  my  point  of  view. — Yours 
cordially,  GEORGE  WISTON 

LXIII 

PORTIA  GREY  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  MR.  STARR, — Father  is  what  is  called 
an  archaeological  painter.  He  would  like  to  paint 
landscape,  but  not  being  equal  to  travelling  about 
he  has  to  do  everything  in  the  studio.  I  don't 
suppose  you  would  care  very  much  for  his  pictures, 
which  are  usually  classical  in  subject  and  are 
absolutely  exact  in  their  details.  I  like  the  land- 
scapes he  used  to  do  better,  and  so,  I  think,  does 
he.  It  is  very  hard  when  artists  who  so  love  this 
beautiful  world  should  be  unable  to  see  scenery; 
but  he  is  always  very  brave  about  it,  and  says  he 
saw  too  much  when  he  was  younger  and  stronger, 
and  we  have  wonderful  sunsets  here. 

Our  dogs  are  spaniels — black  cockers.  I  don't 
think  I  could  live  without  them,  and  that  is  why 
I  expect  never  to  live  in  London,  because,  of 

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course,  it  isn't  fair  to  keep  black  cockers  there. 
They  are  named  "Ebony"  and  "Nox,"  which  are 
both  rather  good  words  to  call  out. 

Father  has  a  Pekinese  called  "Trody,"  an  ab- 
breviation of  "Trop  de  nez,"  which  indicates 
what  her  fault  is.  I  mean,  of  course,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  a  judge  at  a  Show.  She  has  no 
faults  really. — Yours  sincerely, 

PORTIA  GREY 

LXIV 

NANCY  BERNAL  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — Some  of  mother's  co- 
helpers  are  too  wonderful.  There  is  one  lady 
who  arrives  only  to  leave  again.  There  is  another 
who  is  showing  her  friends  over  the  place  almost 
all  day  long.  There  is  another  who  is  continually 
being  wanted  on  the  telephone,  and  sometimes 
sends  messages  like  this:  "Please"  (this  to  the 
already  overworked  secretary's  assistant)  "it 
would  be  so  very  kind  of  you  if  you  would  answer 
it  for  me.  Would  you  mind  telling  her? — it's 

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my  maid  who  is  speaking;  she  is  French,  but  if 
you  speak  very  slowly,  she  can  understand — or 
perhaps  you  can  speak  French"?  No1?  What  a 
pity!  You  would  so  enjoy  some  of  their  books. 
So  witty  and  so  charming.  But  speaking  very 
slowly  will  be  all  right.  Would  you  be  so  very 
kind  as  to  tell  her  to  tell  the  chauffeur  to  be  here 
at  four  sharp,  and  to  tell  the  nurse  that  Miss 
Diana  had  better  not  go  out  to-day,  as  it's  colder 
than  I  thought,  but  there  is  no  harm  in  Master 
Vivian  going  out  with  the  under-nurse  so  long  as 
he  doesn't  sit  down4?  And  oh,  will  she  tell  cook 
that  we  shall  be  eight  this  evening,  and  not  ten? 
That  would  be  so  sweet  of  you.  I'd  come  myself, 
only  I  oughtn't  to  leave  this  work.  Thanks  so 
much." — Mother  imitates  her  wonderfully. — 
Your  loving  NANCY 

LXV 

MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  HER  SISTER-IN-LAW, 
MRS.  WISTON 

MY   DEAR  JOAN, — Archibald,   who  has  been 
very  restless  and  unsettled  for  a  long  while  and 

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quite  unable  to  sleep  after  seven  in  the  morning, 
hurried  to  town  yesterday  to  consult  a  doctor  as 
to  whether  or  not  he  was  fit  to  enlist.  He  went 
in  the  highest  of  hopes  and  spirits,  but  returned  in 
the  lowest.  The  doctor  found  him  quite  unsuited, 
and  has  told  him  he  must  wear  glasses,  or  his 
sight  will  steadily  go. 

The  poor  boy  is  very  unhappy,  but  has  prom- 
ised to  take  a  week  at  Brighton  and  rest.  If  you 
can  think  of  anything  to  cheer  him  up,  I  wish  you 
would  let  me  know. — Your  affectionate 

MAUDE 

LXVI 

DR.  SUTHERLAND  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  HAVEN, — As  an  instance  of  the  far- 
reaching  effect  of  the  war,  I  am  enclosing  a  letter 
from  Hawaii  giving  an  account  of  a  very  engaging 
zealot  for  humanity  out  there. 

[Enclosure] 

"A  little  dried-up  old  man  of  not  above  five 
feet  in  height,  with  a  skin  like  parchment  and  a 
[100] 


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voice  like  a  decrepit  old  melodeon,  was  once  a 
clerk  in  a  stationery  store  here.  He  was  so 
crabbed  and  odd  and  disagreeable  withal  that  the 
store  let  him  go,  and  he  -has  kept  body  and  soul 
by  clerking  in  a  plantation  store  away  in  the 
country.  Our  one  bond  of  sympathy  is  kept  alive 
because  he  borrows  books  on  socialism  out  of  my 
library,  and  burns  with  such  zeal  when  he  returns 
them,  dreaming  of  the  time  when  the  revolution 
shall  come.  .  .  .  Two  weeks  ago  he  lost  his  po- 
sition in  the  country  store.  Even  that  place  could 
not  stand  for  him.  He  came  to  my  house  on  Sun- 
day afternoon  and  said  that  he  had  read  of  what 
we  were  doing  for  the  Belgians,  and  that  now  he 
is  out  of  a  position  he  intended  to  devote  himself 
to  relief  work,  and  he  wanted  to  lay  his  plan 
before  me. 

"It  was  this:  In  his  youth  he  had  learnt  to 
'speak  pieces,'  if  you  know  what  that  means.  So 
now  he  intended  to  go  out  to  some  of  the  Planta- 
tion headquarters  in  the  country,  borrow  or  rent 
a  warehouse,  and  announce  an  evening's  entertain- 
ment which  would  consist  entirely  of  his  recita- 
tions. When  he  assured  me  that  he  was  a  good 

[101] 


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elocutionist,  I  did  not  have  the  heart  to  refuse  to 
give  him  an  opportunity  to  try  it  on  me.  The 
piece  was  'Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night.*  It  was 
awful.  But  it  was  his  offering  to  the  cause  and 
as  such  was  not  to  be  scorned.  He  then  showed 
me  a  brown  wrapping-paper  on  which  he  had 
written  an  announcement,  stating  the  time  and 
place  of  his  entertainment  and  the  cause  to  which 
the  proceeds  were  to  be  given.  I  attempted  to 
dissuade  him,  giving  him  a  plausible  reason  why 
this  was  not  the  time,  but  he  held  to  his  purpose, 
and  the  next  morning  I  saw  him,  a  little  old  man 
of  fifty,  on  a  deplorable  bicycle  to  which  he  had 
tied  an  umbrella,  a  change  of  clothing,  and  a  few 
bananas  for  his  lunch,  starting  for  the  lower  end 
of  the  island. 

"The  following  Sunday  he  returned  cheerful  as 
ever,  and  I  hardly  dared  ask  him  to  tell  me  of  the 
failure  which  I  knew  was  in  store  for  him.  He 
went  at  it  his  own  way,  however,  and  drawing  a 
note-book  from  his  pocket,  showed  me  that  the 
net  result  of  his  work  for  the  suffering  civilians 
of  Europe  was  $266.  On  the  following  Monday 
he  came  to  say  good-bye  with  his  same  equipment, 
[102] 


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even  to  the  bananas  for  lunch.  By  the  mail  of 
yesterday,  he  sends  me  a  memorandum  of  a  grand 
total  of  $500,  which  he  has  got  pledged  up  to  the 
present  time.  He  will  go  round  the  island,  and 
then  will  go  to  the  island  of  Maui,  and  then  prob- 
ably to  the  islands  in  the  north  of  the  group.  At 
every  place  he  goes  and  gives  an  entertainment, 
he  asks  the  people  to  name  a  treasurer,  and  to 
submit  to  him  their  donations.  Each  person  desig- 
nates the  object  to  which  his  money  shall  go,  and 
the  funds  come  to  me  for  final  distribution.  He 
does  not  touch  one  cent  of  money  on  his  trip,  and 
his  small  travelling  expenses  are  paid  out  of  his 
scanty  stock  of  money  saved  from  years  of  labour. 
I  would  not  be  surprised  to  find  him  turning  in 
a  grand  total  of  $1000  for  this  island.  When  he 
set  out  I  would  have  said  that  $20  would  have 
been  the  outside  figure." 

— It's  fine  to  see  the  confines  of  the  earth  coming 
in  like  this ! 

Here  in  New  York  the  progress  of  affairs  is 
being  watched  very  vigilantly.  The  President 
very  naturally  does  not  want  war.  How  could 

[103] 


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he*?.  And  war  would  be  a  very  serious  thing, 
there  being  so  many  Germans  and  German  sym- 
pathisers scattered  about  the  country.  That 
would  mean  every  kind  of  outrage  and  internal 
strife,  I  fear. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  believe  Wilson  to  be  a 
friend  of  right,  and  if  he  thought  it  was  needful 
he  would  run  these  internal  risks,  as  he  is  being 
urged  to  do,  coute  qui  coute,  and  strike.  But  I 
pray  the  need  will  not  arise. — Yours,  T.  S. 

LXVII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  GEORGE  WISTON 

DEAR  GEORGE, — If  you  did  not  hear  from 
me  at  once  it  is  because  the  older  I  grow  the 
more  convinced  I  am  that  letters  should  not  be 
answered  till  the  day  after.  One  merciful  night 
should,  whenever  possible,  intervene.  That  is  to  L 
large  extent  what  nights  are  for. 

You  look  too  far  ahead  and  expect  too  much 
that  is  bad.  Now,  I  make  a  suggestion.  Olive 
has  always  been  a  great  favourite  of  mine,  as  you 
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know.  If  Dick  is  killed  or  disabled,  I  will  myself 
allow  her  £150  a  year,  on  the  condition  that  she 
is  now  allowed  to  marry  instantly.  Is  it  a  bet? 
—Yours,  R.  H. 

LXVIII 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  agree,  on  the  further  con- 
dition that  you  do  not  mention  the  terms  to  any- 
one.— Yours  cordially,  GEORGE  WISTON 


Of  course  not.  HAVEN 

LXX 

MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

DEAR  JOAN, — Just  a  line  to  say  chat  Archi- 
bald writes  me  from  Brighton  that  he  is  taking 

[105] 


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lessons  in  motor  driving  with  the  idea  of  assisting 
with  the  Red  Cross  in  France.  Isn't  it  fine  of 
him  ? — Yours,  M. 


LXXI 

CAPTAIN   DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — We  draw  nearer  to  the  real 
thing  every  day.  Don't  worry  about  me.  I 
don't  feel  anxious,  but  naturally  one  must  take 
precautions,  and  I  have  written  to  Haven  to  make 
everything  all  right,  although  I  had  of  course  gone 
into  such  matters  before  I  left.  English  soldiers' 
wives  are  beginning  to  feel  the  strain  of  this  call- 
ing for  the  first  time  for  many  years,  and  you  for 
the  first  time  of  all. 

If  I  am  hit  I  don't  want  you  to  come  over. 
Stick  to  the  children,  who  have  become  the  most 
important  thing  in  che  world  and  will  be  even 
more  so.  The  next  generation!  It  is  terrible  to 
see  some  of  the  fine  young  fellows  out  here  who 
will  now  never  have  children  of  their  own. 

[106] 


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Rightly,  of  course,  old  men  should  fight,  and  those 
who  already  are  fathers. 

There  is  something  desperately  fine  about 
France.  I  don't  want  to  live  there — I  wouldn't 
swap  miles  of  it  for  an  inch  of  England — but  it's 
fine.  The  French  are  centuries  behind  the  times 
in  sanitation  and  all  that  kind  of  thing;  they  have 
dull  drinks  and  no  breakfast;  they  call  bacon 
"lard,"  and  when  you  get  it  it  isn't  bacon;  their 
clothes  are  poor  and  their  boots  a  disgrace;  their 
billiard  tables  are  ridiculous  and  their  country 
houses  impossible,  without  lawns  or  comfort  or 
anything  jolly  like  ours;  they  know  nothing  about 
so  many  things  that  we  think  necessary.  But 
they're  splendid  and  resolute,  and  one  believes  in 
them.  It's  partly,  I  think,  because  they  believe  in 
themselves;  they're  so  much  in  earnest;  they're 
not  ashamed  of  their  clothes  or  their  gestures  or 
their  great  stomachs.  But  even  more,  it's  because 
one  is  so  sorry  for  them  in  having  this  war  thrust 
upon  them.  For  the  French,  I  am  certain,  want 
to  invade  no  one.  They  want  to  be  let  alone  to 
be  happy,  and  they  want  no  one  to  be  unhappy. 

There  is  a  unity  about  them  too.  One  can 

[107] 


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thihk  of  France  as  one  cruelly  injured  resolute 
person,  whereas  one  can  never — at  least  I  can't — 
think  of  England  as  a  single  figure.  That  is  rather 
odd,  isn't  it?  But  the  French  are  so  much  more 
of  their  country  than  we  are. 

Kiss  the  Prillils  for  me,  my  dear  love. 

TERENCE 


LXXII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GREY, — I  believe  I  should 
like  your  father's  pictures  very  much.  I  am  quite 
keen  on  archeology,  and  last  summer  I  rubbed 
heaps  of  brasses  for  a  friend  of  ours.  I  also  walk 
to  Stonehenge  quite  often.  It  is  not  far  from 
here  and  is  a  ripping  place.  One  evening  I 
counted  twenty-three  hares  on  the  way  there  and 
back.  Your  father  would  make  a  fine  picture  of 
the  Druids  worshipping  there.  But  I  like  other 
pictures  too,  and  I  always  go  to  the  Academy,  at 
least  once,  with  the  mater,  and  then  we  go  a 
buster  and  have  lunch  at  the  Ritz,  close  by,  and 

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to  a  matinee  after.  I  wonder  if  your  father  sends 
his  things  to  the  Academy.  I  shall  know  what 
to  look  for  if  he  does.  The  mater  paints  a  bit 
herself,  but  only  in  water  colours.  Landscapes — 
really  rather  jolly. 

It's  awful  being  without  a  dog,  but  I  can't  have 
one  here  as  my  movements  are  too  uncertain. 

I  am  getting  a  great  dab  at  throwing  hand 
grenades.  That's  where  cricket  comes  in. — Yours 
sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

LXXIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

DEAR  B., — Have  the  new  Tuppenies  reached 
Edinburgh,  I  wonder.  I  went  into  a  bookshop 
yesterday  and  found  a  table  covered  with  pam- 
phlets at  this  modest  figure,  all  proceeding  from 
Oxford.  What,  you  will  ask,  has  Oxford — and 
more  particularly  the  cloistered  conversationalists 
of  All  Souls — to  do  with  war?  Well,  I  can  tell 
you  that  Oxford  has  behaved  nobly,  and  I  spent 
a  long  and  stimulating  evening  in  appreciating 

[109] 


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that  fact.  If  you  want  the  clearest  idea  of  the 
war  from  the  ethical  and  historical  points  of  view 
you  must  down  with  your  Tuppences.  Deny  your- 
self a  few  baps  (don't  you  call  them?).  But  in 
particular  get  Walter  Raleigh  on  Might  and 
Right.  This  is  the  end  of  it : 

"It  would  be  vain  for  Germany  to  take  the 
world;  she  could  not  keep  it;  nor,  though  she 
can  make  a  vast  of  people  miserable  for  a  long 
time,  could  she  ever  hope  to  make  all  the  in- 
habitants of  the  world  miserable  for  all  time.  She 
has  a  giant's  power,  and  does  not  think  it  in- 
famous to  use  it  like  a  giant.  She  can  make 
a  winter  hideous,  but  she  cannot  prohibit  the  re- 
turn of  spring,  or  annul  the  cleansing  power  of 
water.  Sanity  is  not  only  better  than  insanity; 
it  is  much  stronger,  and  Might  is  Right. 

"Meantime,  it  is  a  delight  and  a  consolation  to 
Englishmen  that  England  is  herself  again.  She 
has  a  cause  that  it  is  good  to  fight  for,  whether  it 
succeed  or  fail.  The  hope  that  uplifts  her  is  the 
hope  of  a  better  world,  which  our  children  shall 
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see.  She  has  wonderful  friends.  From  what  self- 
governing  nations  of  the  world  can  Germany  hear 
such  messages  as  came  to  England  from  the 
Dominions  over  sea1?  'When  England  is  at  war, 
Canada  is  at  war.'  'To  the  last  man  and  the 
last  shilling,  Australia  will  support  the  cause  of 
the  Empire.'  These  are  simple  words  and  suffi- 
cient; having  said  them,  Canada  and  Australia 
said  no  more.  In  the  company  of  such  friends, 
and  for  the  creed  that  she  holds,  England  might 
be  proud  to  die;  but  surely  her  time  is  not  yet." 

— Having  gone  to  the  trouble  of  copying  all  that, 
I  now  enclose  a  copy  of  the  pamphlet  itself,  so 
that  you  can  have  the  whole  fine  argument. 

Day  after  day  I  look  in  vain  for  the  god  who 
should  already  have  emerged  from  the  infernal 
machine — War.  It  is  customary  for  national 
crises  to  produce  national  giants;  but  so  far,  in 
the  biggest  crisis  of  modern  times,  no  one  has 
appeared.  In  no  single  walk  of  life  has  the  stress 
under  which  we  are  labouring  evolved  a  big  new 
man.  Certain  of  our  politicians  may  have  im- 


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proved  their  stock,  but  only  slightly;  many  of 
them  have  merely  revealed  new  depths  of  paltri- 
ness. Nor  have  the  arts  risen  to  the  occasion.  As 
for  the  journalists,  the  yapping  ones,  they  make 
me  sad  indeed.  At  a  time  when  all  those  in  au- 
thority have  needed  trust  and  encouragement, 
they  have  been  suspicious  and  hostile.  It  is  an 
extraordinary  phenomenon.  Of  all  varieties  of 
government  that  seem  to  me  disastrous,  I  should 
put  government  by  newspapers  first,  and  that  is 
what  we  are  threatened  with. 

No  doubt  things  will  get  better.  We  move 
slowly  in  England  and  are  not  ashamed  to  allow 
our  processes  of  thought  and  the  changings  of 
our  mind  to  be  visible.  And  thank  goodness  the 
Press  does  not  represent  the  country.  The  coun- 
try is  sound  underneath,  but  it  takes  a  long  time  to 
alter  old  habits  of  irresponsibility.  We  have  been 
far  too  long  prosperous  and  well  protected,  I  sup- 
pose.— Yours,  R.  H. 


[112] 


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LXXIV 
MRS.  PARK-STAN MER  TO  LADY  STARR 

O  MY  DEAR, — I  must  tell  you  about  a  poor  boy 
here  who  has  just  been  jilted — such  a  nice  creature 
and  so  pathetic.  What  he  would  do  without  my 
sympathy  I  can't  think.  He's  a  cousin  of  Lord 
Bonchurch,  and  a  second  lieutenant  in  Horace's 
regiment.  The  girl  and  he  were  brought  up  to- 
gether, and  their  marriage  was  an  understood 
thing,  but  she  has  suddenly  taken  up  with  a  boy 
in  the  Flying  Corps,  and  poor  Gerald  (that's  his 
name)  is  heartbroken.  He  showed  me  her  letter 
— a  most  cold-blooded  statement  of  fact.  What 
there  is  in  these  aviators  I  have  not  yet  gathered, 
but  they  leave  the  other  men  nowhere. 

Gerald  comes  round  to  see  me  every  afternoon, 
and  I  am  gradually  healing  his  poor  sore  feelings. 
He  has  given  me  a  lovely  gold  cigarette-case  as 
what  he  calls  my  fee  for  attendance.  Isn't  that 
charming  of  him?  You  should  see  the  gratitude 
in  his  eyes  when  he  looks  at  me.  It  is  very  de- 

["3] 


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lightful   to  realise   that   one  has  this  power  of 
help. — Your  devoted  AMABEL 

LXXV 

JOHN  LASTWAYS  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  MOTHER, — Excuse  me  opening  the  sub- 
ject again,  but  I  have  found  the  enclosed  para- 
graph in  a  paper.  Please  read  it.  It  seems  to  me 
to  spike  your  guns  very  thoroughly.  Now  please 
say  that  you  withdraw  your  objections,  which  I 
and  all  my  friends  here  think  are,  using  the  word 
in  its  best  sense,  footling.  If  this  boy  of  sixteen 
can  do  things  like  that,  surely  you  would  be  proud 
to  see  me  doing  the  same.  I  quite  see  that  you 
don't  want  to  lose  me,  and  that  there  ought  to  be 
a  man  at  the  head  of  a  family,  but  there  are 
occasions  when  country  comes  first.  Be  a  Spar- 
tan ! — Your  loving  son,  JOHN 


[114] 


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[Enclosure] 
"A  HERO  OF  SIXTEEN 

"A  young  private  of  the  King's  Own  Royal 
Lancaster  Regiment,  who  through  his  being  only 
sixteen  years  of  age  was  going  to  be  sent  back  to 
England,  has  proved  that  bravery  does  not  depend 
on  birthdays.  During  a  recent  German  attack  he 
volunteered  to  carry  a  message  when  the  wires 
had  been  broken,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
headquarters  of  the  brigade.  The  artillery  then 
saved  the  situation  by  their  curtain  of  fire,  and 
the  infantry,  who  had  been  rapid-firing,  were  glad 
to  hear  their  colonel  say,  'They  are  beaten  again.' 
The  Brigadier  complimented  the  young  private  on 
his  pluck,  and  took  his  name." 

LXXVI 

MRS.  LASTWAYS  TO  JOHN  LASTWAYS 

MY  DEAR  BOY, — Please  do  not  re-open  this 
question.  So  long  as  you  are  under  military  age 


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arid  at  school  you  must  do  as  I  and  your  school- 
masters tell  you.  I  quite  understand  that  you 
want  to  be  a  soldier  and  go  to  France,  and  I 
am  proud  of  you  for  feeling  like  that,  but  we  can- 
not do  all  that  we  want  to  in  this  world,  and  it 
would  be  very  bad  for  us  if  we  could.  Also  I 
want  you  to  ask  yourself  if  you  are  quite  sure 
that  it  is  wholly  love  of  country  that  is  making 
you  so  restless,  and  not  the  desire  for  change 
and  excitement1?  Directly  the  holidays  come 
we  will  talk  about  it;  letters  are  not  much  good. 
— Your  loving  MOTHER 

LXXVII 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — We  are  now  in  the  thick  of  it, 
and  I  have  not  had  my  clothes  off  till  to-day  for 
nearly  a  week.  This  is  a  very  hot  corner,  and  we 
take  and  lose  and  re-take  trenches  continually. 
So  far  I  have  had  wonderful  luck,  and  what  be- 
gan by  being  a  taste  of  hell  is  now  normal  life. 
One  learns  very  quickly  to  pick  the  dangerous 

[.16] 


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sounds  out  of  all  the  shattering  turmoil  and  be- 
have accordingly.  But  one  makes  no  plans:  the 
future  ceases  to  exist.  In  ordinary  life  one  never 
can  hug  the  present  quite  sufficiently  close,  but 
here  the  present  is  all. 

I  have  lost  some  of  my  finest  men,  and  that 
is  very  distressing — men  who  would  have  done 
anything  for  me. 

The  difference  between  the  French  soldiers  and 
ours  is  extraordinary.  Our  men  can  be  sullen 
enough,  but  there  are  always  some  who  are  jolly 
in  a  mechanical  kind  of  way — not  perhaps  really 
being  funny,  but  repeating  funny  things  they've 
heard  Graves  or  Robey  or  Harry  Tate  say. 
Even  under  fire,  even  when  the  gas  is  seen  coming 
along,  they  say  these  things  or  use  phrases  from 
the  London  streets,  such  as  "Higher  up,  there!" 
like  a  'bus  conductor,  or  from  football  or  cricket. 
A  man  just  missed  by  a  shell  or  bomb  explosion 
says,  "How's  that,  umpire?"  for  example:  "Not 
out." 

There's  a  kind  of  unwritten  law  that  the  men 
have  got  to  be  jocular  about  everything.  But  the 
French  aren't  like  that  at  all.  They  are  not 

[117] 


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fuhny,  they  are  apathetic  or  sardonic.  Perhaps 
it's  the  difference  between  conscription  and  an 
army  so  largely  amateur  and  out  for  adventure. 
Perhaps  it's  the  difference  between  being  on  your 
own  invaded  soil  and  visiting  it  on  a  great  semi- 
sporting  expedition. 

Here  is  an  example  of  what  the  Boches  can  do. 
Good  warfare,  no  doubt,  but  fairly  beastly  too. 
I  had  to  sit  in  a  trench  for  a  certain  fixed  time 
and  then  climb  out  and  lead  an  attack  on  the 
nearest  German  trench,  which  meanwhile  was 
being  shelled  over  our  heads.  There  I  sat,  star- 
ing at  my  wrist-watch,  and  waiting  for  the  mo- 
ment. "Makes  you  believe  in  God,  doesn't  it1?" 
my  sergeant  said  to  me;  but  whether  he  was 
ironical  or  serious,  I  don't  know.  When  the  mo- 
ment came  I  scraped  together  a  kind  of  cheer, 
and  we  scrambled  out  and  rushed  across  the 
open.  Now  and  then  one  of  my  men  was  hit, 
and  I  remember  thinking  how  like  shot  rabbits 
they  were  as  they  spun  round.  When  we  reached 
the  trench  it  was  of  course  empty.  They  nearly 
always  are.  Nothing  in  it  but  a  few  helmets. 
Now  there  is  nothing  our  men  value  so  much  as 

[us] 


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helmets,  as  souvenirs,  and  there  was  a  rush  for 
these.  It  passed  through  my  mind  to  warn  them, 
but  there  was  no  time;  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  them  blown  to  pieces  before  my  eyes — 
for  in  each  helmet  was  a  bomb,  carefully  placed 
there.  That's  Prussia! 

Now  for  my  first  bath  for  what  the  men  call 
"Donkey's  ears,"  meaning  years  and  years. 

Kiss  the  littluns. — Your  loving 

TERENCE 

LXXVIII 

LADY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  have  only  good  news  from 
Toby,  who  is  working  very  hard  and — as  his  com- 
manding officer  tells  me  privately — is  going  to  be 
a  very  good  soldier.  How  serious  he  is  you  may 
gather  from  the  fact  that  when  I  asked  him  what 
I  could  send  him  he  said  he  wanted  only  histories 
of  great  campaigns. 

Of  the  future  I  dare  not  think;  but  I  hope  that 
I  shall  bear  bravely  and  decently  whatever  ill 

[119] 


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may  come.  The  daily  casualty  lists  are  too  dis- 
tressing. Our  poor  vicar  has  just  lost  his  only 
son — a  nice  boy  of  twenty,  who  looked  to  me, 
when  I  saw  him  just  before  he  went  out,  as  ut- 
terly doomed  as  any  one  can  be.  It  is  odd  that 
one  has  this  feeling  sometimes. 

The  war  widows  in  the  village  now  number 
three.  Not  the  least  part  of  their  grief  (poor 
simple  dears)  comes  from  the  circumstance  that 
there  can  be  no  funeral.  A  funeral  helps. 

We  never  thought  of  two  at  any  rate  of  these 
three  husbands  as  models,  or  as  greatly  beloved  by 
their  wives,  but  now  that  they  are  no  more  the 
wives  speak  of  them  as  though  their  lives  had 
been  all  thoughtful  devotion  and  self-sacrifice. 

This  posthumous  pride  is  a  very  pretty  human 
trait,  even  if  it  provokes  a  smile. 

The  war  makes  no  changes  in  some  people.  I 
have  a  frivolous  friend,  Mrs.  Park-Stanmer,  the 
wife  of  an  officer  stationed  at  Sandwich,  who 
writes  me  now  and  then.  She  is  just  the  same 
self-centred  flirt  that  she  always  was;  except 
rather  more  so,  for  the  war  has  multiplied  oppor- 
tunities. The  kind  of  woman  who,  going  to  the 
[120] 


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National  Gallery,  would  see  only  the  reflection  of 
herself  in  the  glass  of  the  pictures  and  prefer  the 
darker  ones  in  consequence. — Yours, 

HELEN 

LXXIX 

JOHN  LAST  WAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — Won't  you  use  your  in- 
fluence with  mother  and  get  her  to  let  me  enlist"? 
Toby  is  a  soldier,  and  he  is  very  little  older  than 
me  and  not  so  tall.  Mother  always  thinks  such 
a  lot  of  what  you  say  to  her. — Your  affectionate 
nephew,  JOHN  LAST  WAYS 

LXXX 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — I  keep  on  asking  people 
for  war  stories  for  you.  Here  is  the  latest  that  I 
have  come  across — I  mean  latest  worth  sending: 
there  are  too  many  indifferent  ones.  Mrs.  Car- 

[121] 


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stairs,  who  lives  near  us,  asked  a  woman  the 
other  day  if  her  husband  was  at  the  front  yet. 
"Oh  yes,  and  I  hope  he'll  serve  the  Germans  the 
same  as  he  used  to  do  me." 

I  should  like  to  know  more  of  what  it  feels 
like  to  be  a  naturalised  Briton  of  German  birth 
and  education  in  England  at  this  moment.  To 
what  extent  are  they  against  their  old  country  or 
for  ours1?  Can  one  wholly  denationalise  himself 
and  be  any  real  good*?  Such  willingly  expatri- 
ated Englishmen  as  I  have  met  abroad  have  al- 
ways seemed  to  have  some  lack,  some  blemish. 
It  is  not  natural  for  a  man  to  change  countries. 
Letters  in  the  papers  from  anglicised  Germans 
expressing  their  disgust  with  Germany  do  not 
strike  me  as  very  admirable  documents.  Even 
while  glad  to  have  their  support,  one  is  a  little 
ashamed  of  it — or  of  them  (so  complex  are  we!) 
for  offering  it.  Perhaps  the  better  way  is  to  do 
as  some  of  the  richer  ones  do  and  head  all  the 
war  subscriptions.  All  wise  men  insure,  how- 
ever great  the  premium. 

Here  is  a  little  poem  that  was  published  just 
before  the  war  broke  out: 
[122] 


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THE  MOURNER 

I  met  the  mother  of  my  friend  who  died, 
And  kind  and  tender  were  the  words  she  said ; 

But  this  was  what  her  poor  eyes  could  not  hide : 
What  right  have  you  to  live  and  he  be  dead? 

How  often  do  I  say  that  last  line  over  to  myself 
nowadays,  when  bereaved  mothers  are  so  often 
met!  R. 


LXXXI 

FROM  A  DAILY  PAPER 
[MARRIAGE] 

BERN  A  L — WISTON. — On  the  3rd  inst.,  at  St. 
Peter's  Church,  Chislehurst,  very  quietly,  by  the 
Rev.  Canon  Fodder,  M.A.,  Richard,  only  son  of 
Digby  Bernal  and  Mrs.  Bernal  of  73  Bedford 
Gardens,  W.,  to  Olive,  second  daughter  of  George 
Wiston  and  Mrs.  Wiston  of  Chislehurst. 

[123] 


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LXXXII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GREY, — I  thought  about  you 
an  awful  lot  yesterday,  for  I  went  to  the  wed- 
ding of  my  cousins,  Dick  Bernal  and  Olive  Wis- 
ton.  He  is  in  the  regular  army  and  goes  to  the 
front  next  week,  and  they  were  married  in  a 
great  hurry  in  consequence. 

After  the  wedding  there  was  a  great  crush  of 
people  at  the  house,  and  do  you  know,  I  as  near 
as  a  touch  bolted  and  got  into  a  train  for  Ash- 
ford — it's  on  the  same  line,  you  know — but  some- 
how I  funked  it.  Besides,  I  had  the  mater  to 
look  after. 

Weddings  are  rum  things,  aren't  they?  I  sup- 
pose it's  women  who  like  all  the  ceremony  and 
new  clothes.  I  wonder  if  you  do.  This  was 
rather  a  miserable  kind  of  wedding,  because  every 
one  looked  at  poor  old  Dick  as  though  he  were 
certain  to  be  killed,  and  really  one  got  to  think 
of  it  rather  as  an  execution  than  a  wedding. 

They  have  gone  to  Brighton  for  just  four  days' 
[124] 


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honeymoon,  and  then  Olive  returns  home  again. 
Not  my  idea  of  things  at  all. — Yours  sincerely, 

TOBY  STARR 


LXXXIII 

NANCY  BERNAL  TO  JERRY  HARDING 

MY  DEAREST  JERRY, — All  the  time  the  wed- 
ding was  going  on  I  was  thinking  how  easily 
it  might  have  been  ours.  I  wonder  if  you  did  too. 

Now  that  the  ice  is  broken  and  father  and 
mother  are  accustomed  to  weddings,  don't  you 
think  we  had  better  break  the  news  and  marry  at 
once"?  Pretty  nearly  the  same  people  will  come, 
and  as  they've  all  got  their  clothes  that  would 
save  expense,  which  we  ought  to  do  in  war-time. 
That's  one  thing.  Another  thing  is  that,  though 
you  may  not  think  it,  I  want  to  be  Mrs.  Jerry 
Harding ! 

A  third  thing  is  that  I  am  not  really  wanted 
here  at  all,  for  mother  is  never  in  from  morning 
to  night,  she  has  so  many  committees,  etc.;  and 
father  is  never  in  either,  and  when  he  is  he  does 


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nothing  but  read  war  books  or  Land  and  Water. 
So  I  shan't  be  missed. 

Then,  if  you  were  hurt,  I  should  have  the  right 
to  come  out  to  you.  But  something  tells  me  that 
you  are  not  going  to  be  hurt. 

Dear  Jerry,  do  agree  to  this. — Your  true  love, 

NAN 

LXXXIV 

MRS.  BERNAL  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

DEAREST  MOTHER, — You  did  right  not  to 
come  to  the  wedding,  which  was  very  fatiguing. 
Dick  seems  doubly  lost  to  me;  but  Olive  is  a 
dear  girl,  although  I  could  wish  she  was  not  a 
first  cousin.  Still,  I  don't  intend  to  worry  in 
advance.  In  these  days  there  is  nothing  for  one 
but  activity  and  fatalism. 

Fortunately  I  have  certain  interests  in  con- 
nexion with  the  war  which  keep  me  fairly  busy. 
I  am  on  five  committees  and  have  undertaken  to 
get  £500  for  a  new  hospital  within  a  month. 
Please  send  me  something,  and  tell  Mary  I  want 


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something  from  her  too.  And  would  not  the 
maids  like  to  contribute  a  mite  each?  Every  lit- 
tle helps,  you  know. 

Fortunately  we  still  have  Nancy,  who  will  not, 
I  hope,  become  engaged  for  a  long  time  yet.  She 
shows  no  sign  of  it  at  present. — Your  loving 
daughter,  MARGARET 

P.S. — We  have  got  two  Belgians  coming. 


LXXXV 

LADY  STARR  TO  JOHN  LASTWAYS 

MY  DEAR  JOHN, — I  sympathise  with  your  wish 
to  enlist  and  think  it  is  very  sporting  of  you; 
but  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything  to  your 
mother  about  it,  because  I  feel  that  she  knows 
best.  And  I've  got  a  little  plan  which  will  help 
you  towards  being  useful  when  the  time  does 
come.  You  know  our  Renault  car*?  Well,  there 
is  no  one  to  drive  it,  now  that  your  uncle  is  in 
France  and  Toby  is  in  camp  and  we  have  let 
Jarvis  go.  So  what  I  suggest  is,  that,  as  every 


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one  ought  to  be  able  to  run  a  car,  I  shall  give 
you  the  money  to  be  taught  directly  the  holidays 
begin,  and  lend  you  the  car  to  practise  with.  Do 
you  agree*?  But  of  course  you  won't  go  on 
worrying  your  mother  about  enlisting1? — Your  af- 
fectionate AUNT  HELEN 


LXXXVI 

JERRY  HARDING  TO  NANCY  BERNAL 

DEAREST  SWEETEST, — I  have  your  wonderful 
letter  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  want  you 
so  much,  but  I  don't  think  it's  fair  to  marry  you 
like  that.  You  see  I  might  get  killed  directly 
after,  or  I  might  be  frightfully  knocked  about  and 
even  blinded,  and  that  wasn't  a  bit  what  you 
bargained  for  when  you  said  Yes  on  that  gor- 
geous evening  on  the  river.  Do  agree  with  me 
that  it  is  best  to  wait  till  after  the  war.  Don't 
think  it  is  because  I  don't  love  you  that  I  write 
like  this.  It  is  because  I  love  you  so  much. — 
Your  devoted  and  worshipping  J. 

[128] 


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LXXXVII 

MRS  HAVEN  TO  HER  SISTER  IN  NEW  ZEALAND, 
MRS.  GLAZEBROOK 

MY  DEAR  EMMIE, — Once  again  I  take  pen  in 
hand  to  write  my  annual  letter.  Little  did  I 
think  last  year  that  I  should  write  it  thus,  under 
such  unhappy  conditions,  with  Europe  a  great 
battle-field.  But  we  cannot  anticipate  the  future. 
Next  year  I  may  not  be  alive  to  write  at  all,  or 
you  to  read;  while  even  this  letter  may  never 
reach  you,  but  the  ship  that  carries  it  be  sunk  by 
a  torpedo.  Such  dreadful  things  happen  now, 
all  owing  to  the  ambition  of  the  Kaiser.  What 
has  come  over  Germany  I  can't  think.  The  Ger- 
mans that  Henry  and  I  used  to  know  were  so 
different.  Rather  stuffy,  it  is  true,  and  bald  and 
shortsighted,  but  not  cruel  and  grasping,  I  am 
sure.  And  you  remember  our  Fraulein,  what  a 
willing  little  thing  she  was.  But  now  even  the 
German  governesses  are  spies,  they  say. 

Most  of  our  family  are  busy  over  the  war. 

[129] 


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Indeed  all  England  is,  and  I  dare  say  New  Zea- 
land too. 

Helen  has  her  husband,  Vincent,  on  the  Staff 
in  France,  and  her  boy  Toby,  who  is  a  fine  young 
fellow,  left  Oxford  to  enlist,  and  is  now  train- 
ing as  an  officer  on  Salisbury  Plain  and  expecting 
to  go  out  any  day.  Helen  herself  looks  after 
her  village,  knits,  and  is  generally  very  efficient, 
as  she  always  was  even  as  a  small  girl.  You  re- 
member how  she  cooked  that  supper  for  us  on 
the  Sunday  night  that  the  cook  was  inebriated*? 
and  she  only  twelve  at  the  time. 

Joan's  daughter  Violet  is  rubbing  up  her  French 
and  doing  probationer's  work  in  order  to  be  ready 
to  take  up  a  post  at  a  hospital  in  Paris,  where 
she  has  friends.  Poor  John,  who  is  still  at  school 
and  is  only  sixteen,  is  perpetually  worrying  his 
mother  to  let  him  enlist.  He  is  big  for  his  age 
and  it  seems  that  there  have  been  a  number  of 
cases  of  boys  joining  the  Army  through  pretend- 
ing to  be  older  than  they  are.  But  she  remains 
firm. 

Kate,  I  imagine,  has  her  hands  fairly  full  with 
George,  for  having  now  no  business  to  occupy  his 
[130] 


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mind  he  devotes  himself  to  criticising  every  one 
in  authority.  He  gets  hold  of  all  the  rumours 
and  spreads  them  and  is  confident  that  the  Allies 
haven't  a  chance.  He  is  at  his  club  all  day  and 
returns  in  the  evening  to  terrify  the  life  out  of 
poor  Kate  and  his  household.  You  know  how 
fond  some  English  people  always  are  of  running 
their  own  country  down.  Well,  there  are  plenty 
of  them  about  just  now,  and  George  is  worse 
than  any.  The  letters  he  sends  to  Anne,  if  they 
were  true,  would  keep  us  in  utter  dejection  day 
and  night;  but  Anne  very  sensibly  disregards 
them.  "Poor  father!"  is  all  she  says;  "he  would 
be  miserable  if  there  was  nothing  to  find  fault 
with." 

Last  week  Anne  went  home  for  two  or  three 
days  to  help  with  Olive's  wedding  to  Richard, 
Margaret's  boy.  I  don't  like  cousins  marrying, 
at  any  rate,  first  cousins,  but  we  must  hope  for 
the  best.  Richard  had  to  return  to  his  soldier- 
ing after  only  a  few  days.  How  different  from 
Henry's  and  my  honeymoon,  which  lasted  for  six 
weeks!  These  hurried  marriages  are  now  very 
common  in  England  and  probably  in  France  and 


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Germany  too.  It  is  very  hard  on  the  brides  to 
have  to  be  so  hustled  and  it  probably  means  fewer 
presents  too.  Poor  dears!  Richard  and  Olive 
went  to  Brighton.  I  gave  them  cutlery  and  silver. 
Dear  things,  I  hope  they'll  sit  opposite  each  other 
at  their  own  table  and  use  them,  but  who  can 
say? 

Digby  is  just  the  reverse  of  George.  Nothing 
can  damp  his  belief  in  England  and  France  and 
especially  Russia,  and  he  sees  victories  every- 
where. This  is  more  cheerful,  although  it  is  not, 
I  am  afraid,  much  nearer  the  actual  truth.  Still, 
it  is  better  to  live  with.  Digby  is  wiser  than 
George  in  making  himself  busy.  He  is  doing 
something  for  the  war  all  day  long  and  a  good 
part  of  the  night,  and  so  is  Maragret,  who  is  on 
a  number  of  Committees  and  never  still  for  a 
moment.  You  know  her  restless  managing  way. 

Digby' s  sister  Ruth,  perhaps  you  don't  know, 
married  an  officer  who  is  now  at  the  front,  and 
she  is  terribly  anxious.  They  have  two  children. 

All  our  kith  and  kin  interests,  you  see,  are  with 
the  Army.  None  with  the  Navy  at  all.  But  my 
medical  man  here  has  two  sons  with  the  Grand 


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Fleet,  and  Sir  Arthur  Lynne,  who  lives  next  to 
us,  has  one  son  who  is  a  lieutenant  and  who 
writes  very  interesting  letters,  which  Lady  Lynne 
brings  in  to  read.  So  I  keep  in  touch  with  both 
Services. 

Here  we  knit,  there  being  an  endless  supply  of 
warm  scarves,  socks,  etc.,  needed  by  the  men  in 
France  and  Flanders,  where  the  cold  and  wet 
have  been  terrible.  Anne  is  the  manager  of  our 
local  knitting  industry  and  buys  and  distributes 
the  wool  and  so  forth,  and  forwards  the  things 
we  have  made  to  the  right  quarter.  She  is  a  dear 
good  girl  and  I  am  fortunate  in  being  able  to 
retain  her;  but  what  the  men  are  about  not  to 
snap  her  up  I  can't  think.  Still,  there  are  now 
very  few  men  with  any  time  to  make  love,  and 
Richard  tells  me  that  there  will  soon  be  fewer, 
for  conscription  is  sure  to  come  in.  Of  course 
there  are  elderly  men,  but  I  don't  want  to  see  our 
dear  Anne  married  to  a  man  much  older  than 
herself.  It  may  work  all  right  for  a  few  years, 
but  then  he  would  get  older  and  she  younger — 
or  at  any  rate  not  older  at  the  same  rate,  not 
indeed  old  at  all — and  trouble  would  begin. 

[133] 


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Fifty-five  and  twenty-five  are  not  impossible,  but 
add  ten  years  and  where  are  you?  Sixty-five 
and  thirty-five  don't  do  at  all. 

In  addition  to  our  knitting  we  tried  two  Bel- 
gians, but  they  were  not  a  success.  A  man  and 
his  wife.  The  trouble  was  that  there  was  a 
prejudice  against  his  doing  any  work,  for  fear  it 
would  be  depriving  some  Englishman  of  bread, 
and  that  made  him  idle,  and  being  idle,  the  poor 
fellow  got  a  little  too  fond  of  the  bottle.  No 
doubt  he  was  no  teetotaller  in  his  own  country, 
which  I  visited  with  Henry  on  our  honeymoon, 
and  I  still  have  a  piece  of  lace  that  he  bought 
for  me  (he  was  always  so  generous)  at  Malines, 
and  a  glass  paper-weight  with  a  view  of  Brussels. 
It  was  from  Brussels  that  we  went  to  Germany, 
and  met  quite  a  number  of  people  whom  I  thought 
nice  and  friendly  then,  but  who  perhaps  were 
only  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing  after  all.  Mon- 
sieur Blanc,  our  Belgian,  may  not  have  been  a  tee- 
totaller in  his  own  country,  but  he  had  not  been 
used  to  our  strong  spirits,  and  they  were  too  much 
for  him,  and  in  course  of  time  we  had  to  get  rid 
both  of  him  and  his  wife.  They  had,  as  Anne 

[134] 


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said,  ceased  to  be  refugees,  and  become  Belgians 
again. 

Beyond  a  few  contributions  to  charities,  which 
are  likely  to  be  added  to,  I  think,  this  is  all  I  can 
be  said  to  be  doing  for  the  war.  I  wish  it  was 
more. 

My  rheumatism  does  not  get  any  better,  but 
it  is  all  I  have  to  complain  of,  except  old  age. 
Thank  God,  I  can  still  see  and  hear. 

I  hope  you  are  well,  dear  Emmie. — Your  lov- 
ing sister,  VICTORIA 

LXXXVIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — So  many  people  having 
told  me  that  no  wise  man  would  let  another  day 
go  by  without  a  passport,  I  have  taken  the  first 
step  to  obtain  one.  Because  I  might  'have  to  go 
to  France,  and  nothing  is  so  certain  as  that  with- 
out a  passport  I  could  not  do  so.  Not  all  the 
millions  of  Henry  Ford  could  get  me  there  lack- 
ing that  piece  of  paper.  And  that  reminds  me — 

['35] 


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you  had  better  gets  yours  too,  because  Toby  may 
have  to  go  out  at  any  time,  and  if  he  was  hit,  and 
you  wanted  to  hurry  over  to  see  him,  you  could 
not  do  so  without  it. 

Getting  a  passport  nowadays  requires  two 
things,  neither  of  them  very  popular  with  me :  pa- 
tience and  a  mirror.  The  patience  is  to  enable 
you  to  support  all  the  delays  to  which  the  new 
regulations  lead;  the  mirror  is  to  enable  you  to 
fill  up  the  form. 

The  form  begins  with  age.  Not  difficult,  even 
if  unpalatable  to  fill  up.  Next,  profession.  This, 
too,  is  moderately  easy.  Tinker,  barrister,  what 
you  will.  Height  is  a  question  of  fact  which  can 
be  ascertained,  although  the  ascertainment  is  not 
simple.  It  usually  means  being  surrounded  by  a 
crowd  at  a  railway  station  while  you  measure 
yourself,  or,  for  more  privacy,  a  Turkish  bath, 
and  that  is  costly  and  takes  time.  Next  comes 
a  really  hard  one — forehead.  Even  a  mirror  is 
difficult  here.  How  to  describe  one's  forehead*? 
What  kind  of  word*?  Sir  Oliver  Lodge  and  Mr. 
Hall  Caine  would  do  it  simply  enough :  lofty  and 
bulging.  Bill  Sikes  would  do  it  simply  enough: 


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low  and  receding.  But  ordinary  people"?  Hon- 
estly I  have  no  notion  what  my  forehead  is  or 
how  to  convey  its  character  to  the  authorities. 
Perhaps  the  best  word,  although  cowardly,  is 
medium.  Next  come  the  eyes;  and  here  the 
quicksilver  assists.  My  eyes,  after  careful  and 
not  unpleasing  investigation,  I  discover  to  be  a 
mixture  of  blue,  grey,  and  green.  I,  therefore, 
fill  in  the  space  with  the  words  blue,  grey,  and 
green,  omitting  as  too  subtle  minutiae  the  little 
brown  spots  which,  I  learn,  are  also  to  be  seen 
fitfully  there. 

Now  for  the  index  of  the  face,  the  nose.  This 
being  the  first  thing  about  a  countenance  which 
most  observers  see  and  the  last  that  they  retain 
in  mind,  I  must  be  careful.  It  would  be  horrid 
to  be  kept  waiting  at  Boulogne  pier  all  day,  and 
worse,  to  be  sent  back  by  the  next  boat,  because 
my  description  was  inaccurate.  Here  one  needs 
the  threefold  mirror  which  I  find  at  the  hatter's, 
for  the  profile  view  is  valuable.  In  default  of 
that  I  hazard  "large  and  Roman."  Next,  the 
mouth.  I  have  no  more  words  for  my  mouth 
than  for  my  forehead.  My  mouth  is  probably 

[137] 


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not » repulsive,  but  the  sleuth-hounds  gathered  at 
Boulogne  want  something  more  definite  than  that. 
I  examine  it  with  care.  Is  it  large1?  No.  Is  it 
small?  No.  Is  it  well  cut1?  Of  course,  but 
that  doesn't  matter.  Finally  I  fall  back  on  the 
assistance  of  our  old  friend  "medium."  Then 
comes  chin.  Here,  alas !  my  path  is  only  too  clear, 
and  I  sadly  place  a  solitary  numeral  against  it 
and  pass  on :  2.  Then  colour  of  hair :  dark  brown. 
The  complexion.  At  first  I  wrote  "ruddy,"  but 
recalling  old  stories  in  the  pink  papers  where  this 
adjective  does  such  noble  service  as  a  synonym 
for  another  adjective  with  no  tendency  to  an- 
semia,  I  withdrew  it  and  substituted  "healthy." 
And  now  comes  the  most  stubborn  question  of 
all — face.  How  can  one  answer  such  a  query? 
Face?  I  have  no  notion  what  the  authorities  ex- 
pect. Obviously  I  have  a  face,  because  I  have 
just  been  analysing  it  for  them.  The  gluttons! — 
having  been  told  all  about  my  face,  piece  by 
piece,  they  still  want  to  know  what  my  face  is 
like.  I  subject  its  reflection  to  the  minutest  study. 
Is  it  abnormal  in  any  way?  Certainly  not.  Is  it 
excessive?  No.  Is  it  pretty?  No.  Is  it 

[138] 


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symmetrical"?  No.  Is  it  handsome?  That  is 
not  for  me  to  say,  nor  would  what  I  should  say 
be  evidence.  Is  it — why  yes,  of  course,  it  is 
clean-shaved.  That,  at  any  rate,  is  distinctive. 
So  I  simply  say  "clean  shaved."  One  more  ques- 
tion and  we  are  at  the  end.  "Any  special  pe- 
culiarities'?" Ah!  There  are  of  course  several. 
Very  remarkable  air  of  intelligence.  Lights  up 
with  fascinating  radiance.  Has  a  sui-generisity 
not  to  be  put  in  words.  Any  or  all  of  these  re- 
plies I  could  have  put.  Instead,  I  left  it  blank. 
And  so,  the  great  task  was  done. 

But  don't  think  to  be  much  nearer  France  be- 
cause these  awkward  questions  have  been  an- 
swered. Much  more  yet  lies  before  the  intrepid 
traveller.  To  begin  with,  he  must  be  photo- 
graphed— always  to  me  a  painful  process,  and 
one  that  I  have  not  indulged  in  for  many  years. 
But  new  regulations  change  old  habits,  and  off 
I  went  to  a  photographer.  Not  an  artist — oh 
dear,  no.  Not  a  refined  manipulator  of  lights  and 
shades  and  lenses,  who  can  make  even  a  dentist 
poetical  and  a  real  poet  like  a  map  of  the  moon, 
and  charge  accordingly;  but  a  practical  while- 

[139] 


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you-wait  man  over  a  shop  in  the  Strand,  who 
asks  only  half  a  crown  and  gives  you  wrinkles 
and  "valises"  rather  than  removes  them.  The 
whole  thing  did  not  take  more  than  ten  minutes, 
and  I  came  away  the  richer  by  two  alleged  like- 
nesses of  myself,  so  awful  that  if  I  really  accepted 
them  as  veracious  I  either  would  cut  my  throat 
or  some  other  person's;  and  thus  armed  I  set  out 
on  the  search  for  a  magistrate  or  barrister  or  doc- 
tor who  would  sign  my  papers,  and  have  enough 
hardihood  or  credulity  to  state,  on  the  back  of 
one  of  the  photographs,  that  it  represented  me 
and  no  one  else.  And  here  my  path  became  easy, 
for  barristers  are,  to  me,  as  common  as  German 
victories,  in  Germany. 

So  that  is  done.  But  I  don't  get  a  passport 
for  some  days,  and  then  maybe  I  shall  never  use  it. 

And  I  now  repeat  that  you,  with  a  husband  in 
France  and  a  son  soon  to  be  there,  ought  to  go 
through  a  similar  ordeal.  Digby  is  going  to. — • 
Yours,  R. 


[140] 


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LXXXIX 

JOHN  LAST  WAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — You  are  absolutely  a 
top-hole  aunt.  It  is  a  grand  idea,  and  Crosbie, 
one  of  the  fellows  here,  says  that  a  fiver  is  all  that 
is  necessary,  and  there's  a  place  at  Chelsea. 
Thank  you  ever  so  much.  We  break  up  on  De- 
cember 21. — Your  affectionate  nephew, 

JOHN  LAST  WAYS 

XC 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — English  women — those  who 
are  serious,  I  mean — are  thorough  enough  in  their 
work  for  the  war,  but  from  what  I  hear  from  a 
French  officer  with  whom  I  have  struck  up  a 
friendship,  the  French  women  are  even  more  so, 
for  over  here  there  is  that  wonderful  institution 
the  marraine.  A  marraine  is  literally  a  god- 
mother. Her  special  duty  is  to  take  charge  of, 
and  be  responsible  for,  a  poilu  both  in  action  and 


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on  leave.  The  soldiers,  of  course,  come  from  all 
parts  of  France,  but  many  of  them,  when  they  get 
leave,  as  they  do  far  less  often  than  our  men,  get 
it  only  for  Paris,  where  possibly  they  have  no 
friends.  It  is  then  that  the  marraine  comes  in. 
She  meets  him  at  the  station,  finds  a  lodging, 
provides  pocket-money,  takes  him  to  the  cinema, 
and  so  forth.  When  the  soldier  is  at  the  front 
she  sends  him  parcels  of  food  and  clothes  and 
cheers  him  with  letters.  In  England,  no  doubt, 
all  this  is  done  too,  but  not  on  such  a  scale.  The 
comic  papers,  of  course,  have  taken  it  up  and  made 
play  with  its  obviously  frivolous  side ;  but  the 
marraine  is  a  serious  and  splendid  fact  all  the 
same. 

I  keep  fit. 

Love  to  the  Infinitesimals.  T. 

XCI 
MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

DEAR  JOAN, — Poor  Archibald  has  again  failed. 
He  was  driving  a  car  alone  for  the  first  time, 
[142] 


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along  the  Madeira  Road,  when  he  ran  into  a 
boat  which  had  been  placed  there  because  of  a 
high  tide,  and  he  was  severely  shaken.  Of  course 
boats  ought  not  to  be  on  roads.  They  are  the 
last  thing  that  a  motorist  expects  to  have  to  avoid, 
and  I  feel  very  much  for  him.  As  Archibald 
said,  he  had  not  been  taught  not  to  avoid  boats. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  in  addition  to  the  cost 
of  repairing  both  the  boat  and  the  car — and  I  am 
sure  the  Corporation  should  really  pay  for  both — 
the  poor  boy's  nerve  has  temporarily  gone.  After 
a  few  weeks'  rest  he  means,  however,  to  try  as  a 
stretcher-bearer  somewhere.  Anything,  he  says, 
that  will  help  to  relieve  suffering.  Meanwhile 
he  is  bracing  himself  with  a  good  tonic  at  Crow- 
borough,  where  there  is  still  a  little  golf. — Your 
loving  MAUDE 

XCII 

NANCY  BERNAL  TO  JERRY  HARDING 

MY  DARLING  JERRY, — I  have  your  sweet  letter, 
but  what  you  don't  see  is  that  I  should  love  you 

CHS]  ' 


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twice  as  much  if  you  were  wounded  and  needed 
looking  after.  That's  the  point  of  marriage — "in 
sickness  or  in  health!" 

My  suggestion  is  that  we  make  a  compromise. 
Let  us  be  married  by  special  licence  directly  you 
come  back  on  leave.  I  will  find  out  all  about  it 
and  do  everything,  even  to  getting  the  ring.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  telegraph  when  you  are 
coming.  You  will  see  then  how  fitted  I  am  to 
be  a  soldier's  wife.  Do  write  agreeing  to  this. 

I  shall  not  tell  mother  just  yet.  Father  is  sure 
to  be  on  my  side  whatever  happens. — Your  loving 
and  ever  more  loving  NAN. 

.  XCIII 
MRS.  HAVEN  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — As  usual  I  want  your  ad- 
vice. With  so  much  talk  as  to  the  need  for 
economy,  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  be  doing  more 
than  I  have  done.  Already  I  have  changed  our 
tea,  and  instead  of  the  Invalid  Blend  of  China 
which  I  used  to  take,  and  which  you  always  liked 

[144] 


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so  much,  at  35.  40!.,  I  now  have  one  at  2s.  8d. 
A  cheaper  coffee  too  and  chicory  with  it.  Then 
I  have  stopped  the  Sphere  and  the  Guardian;  but 
the  Church  Times  I  cannot  give  up,  especially  as 
I  pass  it  on  afterwards,  and  Punch,  which  I  al- 
ways send  to  New  Zealand  to  your  Aunt  Emmie. 
It  is  hard  to  give  up  the  Sphere,  but  the  servants 
take  the  Daily  Sketch,  and  I  can  see  the  war  pic- 
tures there  whenever  I  want  to.  "C.K.S.'s"  valu- 
able guide  to  literary  thought  is,  of  course,  a 
loss,  but  one  must  try  to  bear  it.  Country  Life 
I  have  given  up  too,  and  so  we  can  no  longer 
play  at  choosing  a  new  home  as  we  used  to.  In- 
stead of  four  books  a  week  from  the  Library, 
we  now  are  to  have  only  two,  and  I  am  continu- 
ally turning  down  the  gas  and  removing  lumps 
of  coal  from  the  fires,  while  we  never  have  fish 
and  meat  any  more,  but  either  one  or  the  other. 
So  you  see  I  have  tried. 

But  all  the  same  I  feel  that  there  is  still  much 
that  ought  to  be  done,  and  I  am  now  writing  to 
ask  you  if  you  think  I  ought  to  part  with  Ellen*? 
It  is,  I  know,  a  small  house  for  three  maids,  and 
yet  they  always  seem  to  have  enough  to  do. 

[145] 


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Anne  and  I  -have  talked  it  over  and  have  decided 
that  we  would  try  to  assist  Sarah  and  Julia  suf- 
ficiently to  make  up  the  deficiency  if  Ellen  goes. 
What  do  you  advise  ?  Her  wages  are  £26  a  year, 
and  her  food  and  washing  come,  I  suppose,  to 
12s.  a  week  more,  at  least. 

Those  are  the  principal  things.  There  are  also 
lots  of  little  domestic  problems.  For  example,  a 
new  dress.  One  can  of  course  do  without  new 
dresses.  It  is  impossible  to  say  truthfully  that  a 
dress  is  ever  really  worn  out.  Ought  one  to  have 
a  new  one*?  But  I  am  most  concerned  about 
Ellen. — Your  loving  MOTHER 

XCIV 

LADY  STARR  TO  A  PRISONER  IN  GERMANY 

DEAR  SIR, — I  have  drawn  your  name  as  that 
of  a  British  prisoner  in  Germany;  but  now  that  I 
sit  down  to  write  to  you  I  find  I  have  nothing  to 
say,  not  knowing  what  the  censor  does  with  such 
correspondence.  I  am  therefore,  instead  of  writ- 
ing letters  to  you,  ordering  three  or  four  papers 


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to  be  sent  to  you  every  week.    If  you  would  pre- 
fer others  let  me  know. — Your  sincere  friend, 

HELEN  STARR 


xcv 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — Before  I  can  advise  as  to 
Ellen,  please  answer  two  questions: 

1.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  money 
you  save  by  dismissing  Ellen"? 

2.  What  is  Ellen  going  to  do  when  she  is  dis- 
missed*? 

I  am  not  sure  but  that  we  must  give  the  Kaiser 
a  statue,  after  all,  as  the  man  who  rendered  pov- 
erty no  disgrace.  For  that  is  what  is  going  to 
happen  in  England:  people  who  hitherto  have 
been  terrified  of  displaying  the  true  paucity  of 
their  means  will  be  able  to  do  so  without  shame. 
In  fact,  I  foresee  a  time  when  we  shall  compete 
in  economy  as  we  now  do  in  ostentation,  to  the 
great  joy  of  the  naturally  parsimonious.  Some 
day  England  under  penury  may  even  become  so 

EH?] 


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sensible  as  to  force  its  shopkeepers  to  sell  those 
small  portions  of  housekeeping  material  which  the 
French  understand  but  which  until  now  we  have 
been  too  snobbish  for. 

My  own  principal  economy,  so  far,  is  the  giv- 
ing up  of  wine.  This  I  hate,  but  I  feel  it  is  right 
to  do  so.  Life  for  the  moment  is  hardly  worth 
living;  but  I  shall  get  used  to  water  in  time  and 
then,  I  suppose,  wonder  how  I  ever  cared  so  much 
for  those  other  costly  fluids. — Your  loving  son, 

RICHARD 


XCVI 
MRS.  HAVEN  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — As  to  your  two  ques- 
tions, I  really  don't  know  exactly  what  I  should 
do  with  the  money  saved  by  dismissing  Ellen. 
To  be  quite  frank,  I  am  very  stupid  about  money 
altogether,  and  have  not  yet  realised  what  is  to 
become  of  any  of  the  money  saved  from  the 
things  that  we  have  cut  down;  but  we  felt  that 
we  must  cut  down  or  not  be  patriotic.  All  I  know 

[148] 


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is  that  the  new  tea  is  not  at  all  nice,  and  that 
we  get  through  two  books  so  quickly  that  for 
half  the  week  there  is  now  nothing  to  read;  but 
I  suppose  such  privations  are  good  for  us,  and 
certainly  I  don't  complain.  Indeed,  when  I  think 
of  the  sacrifices  our  men  are  making  in  France, 
there  is  nothing  in  self-denial  that  I  don't  want  to 
try,  and  Anne  too. 

Would  not ,  Ellen's  wages,  etc.,  go  to  make 
shells?  That  is,  of  course,  if  I  knew  where  to 
send  it.  Or  ought  I  to  put  it  by  for  a  rainy  day*? 

I  had  not  given  any  thought  to  your  second 
question.  Poor  Ellen,  I  should  not  like  her  to  be 
homeless. — Your  loving  MOTHER 

XCVII 

MRS.  BERNAL  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — Our  Belgians  get  more  and 
more  difficult.  Monsieur  goes  out  every  morning 
to  look  for  work,  but  who  wants  portraits  painted 
nowadays?  He  comes  back  to  lunch  punctually 
enough  and  is  then  off  again,  usually  borrowing 

[H9] 


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a  few  shillings  from  Digby,  to  be  repaid  when  the 
war  is  over.  He  gives  receipts  for  the  money 
with  so  much  dignified  ceremony  that  one  cannot 
doubt  the  honesty  of  his  intentions,  but  we  can't 
think  of  him  as  anything  but  needy  in  Belgium 
too.  Digby  has  enough  I.O.U.'s,  as  he  says,  to 
paper  the  hall.  I  tell  him  it  is  a  folly  to  go  on 
without  making  inquiries,  but  he  won't  be  hard 
enough  or  sensible  enough  to  do  so.  My  own 
troubles,  apart  from  having  to  listen  to  Madame's 
interminable  mournful  chatter,  begin  at  dinner, 
when  Monsieur,  after  a  glass  or  so  of  wine,  tells 
perfectly  awful  stories  such  as  are  usually  kept 
till  the  ladies  leave  the  room.  The  result  is  that 
I  have  not  let  Nancy  dine  at  home  for  quite  a 
long  time.  Poor  Digby 's  French  is  so  simple  and 
restaurant-like  that  he  doesn't  understand  enough 
to  stop  'him,  even  if  he  could  be  so  firm. — Yours, 

MARGARET 


[150] 


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XCVIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

MY  DEAREST  MOTHER, — The  idea  of  economy 
is  to  have  more  money  in  the  country  for  the 
Government  to  call  on  if  the  war  lasts  a  long 
time.  It  is  now  costing  some  millions  a  day  and 
this  money  must  be  found  somehow.  The  less 
wt  spend  now,  the  more  there  will  be  later;  and 
the  thing  to  do  is  to  keep  on  putting  a  little  into 
the  War  Loan. 

But  I  think  you  would  be  acting  wrongly  if 
you  got  rid  of  Ellen  except  to  pass  her  on  at 
once  to  a  richer  employer  than  yourself.  From 
what  I  know  of  your  investments  they  are  fairly 
safe,  and  you  are  less  in  need  of  pinching  than 
many  of  us. 

Since  becoming  a  teetotaller  I  am  horrified  to 
observe  how  much  other  people  drink.  It  is 
probably  not  really  much — no  more  than  I  used 
to  take  myself — but  from  this  new  eminence  of 
rectitude  it  looks  enormous. 


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^  Take  care  of  your  precious  self  in  this  treacher- 
ous weather. — Your  loving  R. 

XCIX 

LADY  STARR  TO  VIOLET  WISTON 

MY  DEAR  Vi, — I  want  to  tell  you  that  at  a 
Christmas  week  party  at  the  Souths,  with  great 
presence  of  mind  I  invented  a  new  game.  You 
know  my  reputation  for  being  so  quick  and  clever ! 
Well,  Mrs.  South  challenged  me  to  do  so,  and  I 
was  equal  to  the  occasion.  Even  as  she  spoke,  by 
some  bewildering  miracle  an  idea  suddenly  en- 
tered my  head.  "Why  not  play  at  'Sister  Susie'  ?" 
I  said. 

"You  don't  mean  more  sewing4?"  Mrs.  South 
replied  in  terror. 

"No,  no,"  I  explained,  seeing  daylight  as  I 
talked.  "First  we  want  twenty-six  little  bits  of 
paper.  Will  some  one  tear  them  up*?  Then  on 
these  we  write  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  Then 
they  are  put  in  a  hat  and  shaken  up,  and  we  take 
out  one  each  in  turn.  As  there  are  twelve  of  us 


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we  shall  have  two  each,  and  two  of  us  will  have 
three  each,  to  make  the  twenty-six.  Is  that  all 
clear?" 

They  said  it  was  as  clear  as  mud,  and  I  went 
through  it  again  with  the  crystal  clarity  of  a 
teacher  of  one  of  those  advertised  systems  which 
impart  a  perfect  knowledge  of  Russian  in  three 
lessons. 

"Then,"  I  said,  "you  take  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
fill  up  a  line  for  each  of  your  two  (or  it  may  be 
three)  letters,  in  the  manner  of  the  famous  Sister 
Susie  line  which  I  am  told  is  sung  wherever  the 
sun  never  sets: 

'Sister   Susie's   sewing   shirts   for   soldiers,' 

that  is  to  say,"  I  added,  absolutely  aghast  at  my 
own  ability  and  aptitude,  "that  supposing  you  had 
A  you  might  write: 

'Auntie  Ann  is  asking  aid  for  Asquith,' 
or  if  B: 

'Bertha's  boiling  bully  beef  for  Belgians.' 

[153] 


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It  must  be  alliterative ;  it  must  be  as  much  in  the 
metre  of  the  Sister  Susie  line  as  possible;  and  it 
must  have  reference  to  the  war." 

The  company  having  intimated  that  this  also 
was  as  clear  as  mud,  I  repeated  it. 

"But  what  about  X*?"  a  rather  pretty  girl 
asked. 

"Yes,  and  Z*?"  asked  some  one  else. 

"I  felt  sure  there  would  be  some  defect  in  the 
game,"  I  replied.  "We  are  only  feeling  our  way, 
you  see.  We  had  better  leave  them  out." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Mrs.  South's  Aunt  Eliza,  "let's 
have  them." 

This  old  lady,  it  seems,  spends  quite  half  of 
her  life  in  guessing  acrostics  and  anagrams,  and 
doing  all  kinds  of  competitions  in  the  papers  in 
order  to  win  £500,  and  the  difficulties  of  writing- 
games  are  food  and  drink  to  her. 

Then  the  inevitable  happened. 

"Oh,  but  I  can't  play  this,"  said  one  guest  who 
had  just  begun  to  grasp  its  character.  You  know 
how  there  is  always  some  one  who  shies  at  any 
game  with  a  pencil  in  it. 

[154] 


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"I'm  sure  I  can't,"  somebody  else  said.  "I'm 
hopelessly  stupid." 

Ten  minutes  having  passed  in  fighting  to  retain 
them,  during  which  time  a  third  and  fourth  lost 
courage  and  fell  out  too,  we  settled  down  to  the 
hat  with  only  eight  players.  That  is  to  say,  we 
were  each  to  have  three  letters,  and  Aunt  Eliza 
and  I,  being  the  most  gifted,  were  to  share  X 
and  Z. 

We  were  just  beginning  when  the  rather  pretty 
girl  wanted  to  know  how  we  were  to  manage 
about  relationships.  "  'Sister  Susie'  is  all  right," 
she  said,  "and  'Aunt  Alice'  and  'Cousin  Connie/ 
but  there  aren't  any  more  unless  we  say  'Father 
Freddy'  and  'Mother  Molly'  and  'Brother  Bertie' 
and  'Uncle  Ulrich.'  " 

"We  couldn't  have  Ulrich,  because  that  would 
be  trading  with  the  enemy!"  I  brightly  said. 

It  was  therefore  decided  to  cut  out  relation- 
ships and  begin  with  the  girls'  names  right  away. 

And  so  we  started,  five  minutes  being  allowed. 
I  saw  at  once  that  Z  was  useless.  Zoe  and  Zu- 
leika  could  be  found  easily  enough,  but  there 
was  nothing  to  set  them  to  do.  No  verbs.  I 

[155] 


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therefore  concentrated  on  my  other  letters,  which 
were  U  and  J,  and  with  infinite  agonies  pro- 
duced : 

"Jessie's  jams  and  jellies  go  to  Jellicoe," 
and 

"Ursula's  unpacking  urns  for  Uskub." 

Mrs.  South  came  out  strong  with  C: 
"Connie's  cooking  Coldstream  captain's  curry," 

and  Molly's  G  was  very  passable: 

"Gertie's  growing  goosegogs  for  the  Ghurkas." 

Y,  which  fell  to  Bertie  South,  was  ingenious : 
"Yolande's  yoking  yaks  for  yelling  yeomen." 

I  need  hardly  say  that  Aunt  Eliza  played  it 
best.  Aunts  always  do  play  this  kind  of  game 
best.  Her  three  letters  were  P,  S,  and  X.  The 
first  two  she  rendered  thus: 

"Pamela  pots  poisoned  prunes  for  Potsdam," 


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and 

"Sally's  singing  Saint-Saens'  songs  to  Serbians." 

"But  what  about  X*?"  we  demanded. 

"X  isn't  really  possible,"  she  said.  "Xantippe 
is  the  only  name,  and  there  are  no  verbs  for  her. 
So 

'X  X-pounds  X-rays  to  X-lieutenants' 

is  all  I  can  do." 

There — that's  enough  of  this  frivolous  stuff. 

It  would  be  a  very  poor  war  out  of  which  the 
shopkeepers  could  make  nothing.  I  walked  up 
Bond  Street  yesterday  thinking  of  Christmas 
presents,  and  really  it  is  wonderful  to  see  the  gilt- 
edged  things  with  which  to  tempt  officers,  or, 
more  properly,  to  tempt  the  friends  of  officers 
wishing  to  give  them  things.  Of  course,  smok- 
ing equipments  come  first.  Everything  is  in 
either  gold  or  silver;  which  shows  what  a  lot  of 
money  there  still  is  in  the  country.  Then  there 
are  the  elaborate  wrist  watches,  more  like  those 
of  actresses  than  warriors;  and  the  cases  contain- 
ing knives  and  forks  and  so  forth,  in  the  most 

[157] 


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lovely  leather.  And  the  wonderful  safety  razors 
also  in  gold  and  silver.  It  all  reminded  me  of 
the  campaign  accessories  belonging  to  Napoleon 
which  you  see  at  the  Invalides  and  the  Carnavalet. 
But  then  he  was  Napoleon! — Your  affectionate 

AUNT  HELEN 


C 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

[  Telegram  ] 

HAVE  been  hit.  Nothing  much.  Don't  worry. 
Writing.  DERRICK 

CI 

PORTIA  GREY  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  MR.  STARR, — or  perhaps  I  ought  to  call 
you  Lieutenant? — You  see  you  are  the  only  sol- 
dier that  I  know,  except  a  wounded  man  here, 
to  whom  I  read  the  paper  every  day.  But  he  is 

[158] 


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not  an  officer.  He  lives  near  us,  with  his  mother, 
and  having  had  his  eyes  injured  he  cannot  read. 
His  favourite  paper  is  the  Mirror,  and  he  wants 
it  all,  and  I  even  have  to  describe  the  pictures  of 
W.  K.  Haselden.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  diffi- 
cult to  pass  on  the  fun  of  a  picture  to  one  who 
can't  see;  and  even  now  I  don't  know  if  I  do  it 
successfully,  for  he  is  so  polite  that  he  would 
laugh  anyway.  He  loves  those  paragraphs  about 
actresses  in  swagger  restaurants,  and  he  is  revel- 
ling in  the  serial  story  more  than  I  am.  I  liter- 
ally begin  at  the  beginning  of  the  paper  and  go 
right  through;  and  when  it  comes  to  the  racing 
I  have  to  read  the  names  of  the  horses  first  and 
then  he  guesses  the  winners,  and  afterwards  he 
guesses  "what  price"  they  were.  I  expect  you, 
being  a  man,  know  what  this  means.  I  didn't. 
His  knowledge  of  horses  seems  to  me  wonderful, 
and  he  can  tell  me  the  owners'  and  trainers'  names 
of  nearly  every  one. 

I  offered  him  lots  of  books,  but  he  likes  papers 
best. 

I  had  a  funny  experience  the  other  day.  I 
came  down  in  the  train  with  a  whole  carriageful 

[159] 


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of  bluejackets.  There  were  just  two  of  us  in  the 
carriage  at  Charing  Cross,  a  woman  and  I,  and 
then  all  these  men  crowded  in  at  the  last  minute. 
The  woman  gave  a  little  scream  and  hurried  out, 
and  I  was  left  alone  with  them.  They  were  so 
nice  and  jolly.  I  think  they  'had  all  had  a  drop, 
but  they  couldn't  have  been  more  courteous. 
Every  one  of  them  was  either  being  courteous  or 
pitching  into  the  others  for  not  being  so — for 
talking  too  freely  or  doing  something  to  incom- 
mode the  young  lady.  And  then  they  passed 
round  a  bottle,  and  it  had  just  begun  its  round 
when  one  of  them,  an  Irishman,  asked  how  they 
could  be  so  rude  as  not  to  offer  it  first  to  me. 
So  although  I  said  I  didn't  want  any,  the  owner 
of  the  bottle  took  out  a  new  handkerchief  and 
wiped  it  with  the  greatest  care,  and  begged  me 
to  take  a  little  refreshment.  I  hated  to  hurt  them 
by  refusing,  but  I  couldn't  bear  the  smell  of  it. 
There  was  a  little  sailor  next  to  me  who  said 
his  ship  was  going  out  to  the  Persian  Gulf,  and 
he  would  send  me  some  pearls  and  lace  if  I  would 
give  him  my  address,  and  I  promised  to  send  him 
a  paper  every  week. 

[160] 


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What  a  difference  there  is  between  sailors  and 
soldiers!  I  have  often  been  on  the  platform 
when  a  train  full  of  soldiers  came  in,  and  they 
have  made  me  so  uncomfortable  with  their  re- 
marks. It's  only  their  excitement,  I  know,  but 
it  isn't  any  the  less  uncomfortable  for  that.  But 
these  sailors  were  so  thoughtful  and  respectful, 
as  though  I  were  made  of  china  or  all  over  bloom. 
Perhaps  it's  the  sea  makes  them  simpler  and  more 
tender.  Please  don't  think  I  don't  admire  sol- 
diers. I  do.  I  admire  them  immensely.  But 
somehow  I  should  feel  happier  being  alone  with 
sailors.  Soldiers  seem  to  be  getting  into  such  a 
bold,  possessive  way,  as  though  women  had  only 
to  be  whistled  to. — Yours  sincerely, 

PORTIA  GREY 

CII 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — I  dictate  this  to  my  nurse,  who 
is  a  peach.  I  am  at  Boulogne  and  absolutely  on 
velvet.  Some  shrapnel  smashed  my  left  arm: 


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nothing  more  serious  than  that,  and  every  one  'is 
hopeful  that  it  may  be  saved.  I  don't  want  you 
to  come  over.  Wait  for  me;  I  shall  be  back  in 
a  little  while  for  a  nice  long  holiday.  Thank 
Heaven  it's  the  left  arm,  because  I  shall  be  able 
to  fish.  Also,  in  a  day  or  so,  to  write  to  you. 

Kiss  the  Minutiae  for  me  and  tell  them  to  send 
me  a  line.  TERENCE 


cm 

Miss    HERMIONE    HUNTRESSE    TO    HER    OLD 
SCHOOLFELLOW,  NANCY  BERNAL 

DARLING  NANCY, — I  want  you  to  be  a  dear 
and  promise  to  cut  anything  that  you  have,  in 
order  to  go  with  me  to  the  Bayswater  Barracks 
on  Sunday  evening.  There  is  to  be  a  perform- 
ance for  the  Tommies,  and  we  are  one  short  in 
the  chorus  for  a  song  that  Gertie  Millar  is  going 
to  do.  I  have  promised  to  find  some  one,  and 
naturally  want  you.  There's  no  need  to  be  able 
to  sing  or  anything:  you  just  have  to  wear  a 
pretty  frock  and  show  all  your  32  pearlies.  The 

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frocks  are  being  made  at  Davidoff's.  I'll  call  for 
you  any  time  you  like  and  take  you  there :  I  have 
learned  to  drive,  and  I  have  the  duckiest  little 
two-seater  you  ever  saw. 

It  will  be  great  fun,  because  there's  to  be  sup- 
per afterwards,  and  you  shall  sit  near  George 
Graves,  who  always  makes  me  die. 

Say  you'll  come,  there's  a  pet. — Yours  everly, 

HERMIONE 

P.S. — By  the  way,  I  wish  you'd  give  me  Toby's 
address.  He  seems  to  have  passed  off  the  map. 


CIV 

LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAREST  JOAN, — The  great  joke  here  is  Mrs. 
Bonsor,  who  before  the  war  had  always  posed  as 
a  great  cosmopolitan  and  had  been  to  Trouville 
or  Etretat  every  summer,  and  to  Le  Touquet  for 
golf  every  spring,  and  to  Aix  or  Homburg  every 
autumn,  and  to  Nice  or  Mentone  or  even  Monte 
Carlo  (Monty  she  calls  it)  every  winter,  and  had 

[163] 


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us  to  suppose  that  she  could  speak  French 
like  a  native.  Well,  it  now  turns  out  that  the 
only  native  whose  fluency  resembles  hers  is  an 
oyster,  for  on  the  arrival  of  her  elderly  Belgian 
couple — an  old  gentleman  and  his  wife,  very  be- 
wildered— she  had  to  send  for  me  in  despair  to 
help  her  out.  The  dear  creatures,  she  explained, 
used  a  patois,  and  that  was  beyond  her.  What 
they  wanted  she  could  not  grasp,  but  it  was  evi- 
dently something  very  important.  To  me  their 
words  sounded  just  like  French.  The  whole 
trouble  was  simply  this — that  Mrs.  Bonsor  had 
given  them  a  room  witfi  two  little  beds,  and  the 
poor  old  things  wanted  one  big  one.  Nothing 
else.  They  had  slept  together  for  nearly  half  a 
century  and  wished  to  continue  to  do  so.  Well, 
they  are  happy  now. 

But  I  don't  envy  them  in  that  house.  Why 
can't  people  be  more  honest?  Why  pretend  to 
know  French  if  they  don't?  Retribution  is  bound 
to  follow.  Perhaps  the  war  will  knock  some  of 
such  foolishness  to  pieces.  I  hope  so. — Yours, 

H. 

[164] 


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cv 

MRS.  HAVEN  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — Thank  you  very  much 
for  your  wise  advice,  but  I  am  happy  to  say  that 
it  came  too  late  to  be  needed.  We  are  over- 
joyed, for  what  do  you  think1?  Sarah,  Julia, 
and  Ellen  all  came  up  to  me  together  last  night, 
and  said  that  they  each  wished  to  take  £10  a 
year  less  wages  during  the  war.  And  they  had 
no  idea  either  that  I  had  been  thinking  of  dis- 
missing Ellen!  It  was  wonderful,  quite  like  an 
answer  to  prayer.  At  first  I  refused,  but  they 
were  very  firm  about  it  and  really  wanted  to  "do 
their  bit,"  as  they  said,  and  so  it  is  arranged 
now  that  they  each  take  £8  less. 

War  prisoners  in  Germany  and  Holland  have 
now  been  distributed  among  us,  to  write  to.  I 
have  one,  Anne  has  another,  and  Ellen  has  in- 
duced me  to  let  her  have  one  too.  I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  she  wrote  the  best  letters  of  the 
lot. — Your  loving  MOTHER 


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CVI 

Miss  HERMIONE  HUNTRESSE  TO  NANCY  BERNAL 

MY  DARLING  NANCY, — Don't  be  absurd.  Of 
course  it  won't  cost  as  much  as  that,  because  we're 
all  economising,  but  we  must  do  what  we  can 
for  the  Tommies,  and  it  would  be  very  rough  on 
them  if  we  all  looked  dowds  and  frumps.  I  prom- 
ise you  that  everything  all  told  shan't  come  to 
more  than  twelve  guineas,  and  you  can,  of  course, 
use  them  again  and  again.  I  shall  be  awfully 
disappointed  if  you  say  no. — Yours  everly, 

HERMIONE 

CVII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  UNCLE  RICHARD, — I  can't  say  'how  soon 
we  shall  have  to  go.  It  may  be  at  once ;  and  really 
I  hope  so,  for  hanging  about  is  nervous  work 
and  I  want  to  know  the  worst. 

I  make  as  brave  a  show  as  I  can,  and  when  I 


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get  to  town  swagger  about  and  look  in  the  shops, 
but  I  can't  for  more  than  a  few  minutes  at  a  time 
get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  there  is  some  awful 
doom  awaiting  me.  It  is  just  like  the  old  dread 
of  the  dentist,  only  much  worse.  I  wake  up  in 
the  night  and  shiver.  There  is,  I  suppose,  no 
other  word  for  it  than  funk,  and  yet  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  is  exactly  funk  either,  because  I  never  have 
any  doubt  about  going  through  with  it.  Or  if  it 
is  funk,  it  is  just  the  funk  that  every  one  must 
have  in  thinking  of  the  possibility  of  death.  The 
rum  thing  is  that  I  had  never  thought  of  death 
before,  except  of  other  people's,  and  then  very 
casually.  But  when  one  reads  the  lists  and  then 
realises  that  in  a  few  hours  one  may  be  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  why  then  I  sweat  ice.  I  wonder 
if  all  the  other  men  I  see  are  the  same.  I  dare 
say  that  when  once  I  get  out  there  in  the  thick 
of  it,  and  my  blood  is  up,  I  shan't  bother.  There 
ought  to  be  a  drug  for  waiting  subs  to  take! 

Our  men  have  got  a  song  which  they  sing  in 
unison  whenever  the  time  hangs  heavy.  It  is  to 
one  of  those  dreary  tunes — an  old  hymn  tune,  as 
a  matter  of  fact — that  they  all  like  best,  and  it 


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wpuld  make  the  hair  of  the  ordinary  excited  per- 
son who  thinks  of  every  soldier  as  just  spoiling 
to  get  at  the  enemy,  curl. 
This  is  one  verse: 

When  I  put  civilian  clothes  on 

Oh,  how  happy  I  shall  be! 
When  this  bloody  war  is  over 

No  more  soldiering  for  me! 

However  long  I  live  I  shall  hear  this  being 
sung.  People  say  that  "Tipperary"  is  the  Na- 
tional Anthem  of  the  Army.  But  it  isn't.  This 
hymn  is. — Your  affectionate  TOBY 


CVIII 

MRS.  HAVEN  TO  AN  UNKNOWN  BRITISH  PRIS- 
ONER IN  GERMANY 

MY  DEAR  BRAVE  FRIEND, — I  am  sending  you 
a  box  of  things  which  I  hope  will  be  useful  to 
you  if  you  ever  get  them.  But  we  are  told  so 
much  about  parcels  not  reaching  prisoners  that  I 
have  serious  doubts.  If  you  can,  I  hope  you  will 

[168] 


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let  me  know,  and  tell  me  also  if  there  is  any- 
thing you  would  rather  have  than  the  things  I 
have  put  in.  The  Golden  Treasury  is  in  case  you 
have  nothing  to  read  and  like  poetry.  It  is  a 
book  that  I  have  found  it  possible  to  read  again 
and  again,  but  of  course  it  may  be  tedious  to 
you,  since  tastes  differ  and  I  don't  know  anything 
about  yours.  No  doubt  some  one  else  might  like 
it  if  you  don't.  But  if  you  do  like  it  I  will  send 
the  second  part,  although  it  is  not  so  good  as  the 
first.  If  you  would  rather  have  stories,  say  so, 
and  I  will  send  you  some  long  ones  like  Monte 
Cristo.  The  puzzles  are  to  help  to  pass  the  time. 
The  bits  of  string  and  safety-pins  will  probably 
be  useful. 

I  don't  send  any  cake  because  it  would  go  bad, 
but  I  have  sent  shortbread  instead,  because  that 
keeps  a  long  time  and  can  be  made  fresh  by 
warming.  I  send  some  tea  too,  and  a  patent  spoon 
which  makes  a  cup  at  a  time  and  does  not  waste. 
I  want  you  particularly  to  tell  me  whether  or 
not  you  get  these  things,  because  there  are  stories 
here  of  the  Germans  intercepting  all  food  and 

[169] 


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eating  it  themselves.  I  always  thought  of  them 
as  a  greedy,  even  gluttonous  people,  with  very  un- 
pleasant table  manners,  although  I  must  also  be 
fair  and  say  that  my  late  husband  and  I  had 
some  friends  among  them.  That,  however,  was 
a  long  time  ago,  and  most  things  have  changed 
for  the  worse  since  then. 

I  do  not  write  more  to-day  because  I  have  no 
notion  what  you  are  like,  except  that  you  are 
one  of  our  brave  soldiers.  You  see,  a  number  of 
us  were  asked  if  we  would  write  to  prisoners  and 
you  fell  to  me.  But  if  you  answer  this  letter  I 
shall  know  more,  and  then  writing  will  be  easier. 
— Believe  me,  your  sincere  well-wisher, 

(Mrs.)  VICTORIA  HAVEN 


DEAR  DIGBY, — The  conspiracy  of  silence  under 
which  we  now  live  is  monstrous.     The  truth  can 
always  be  faced:  it  is  these  half-truths  and  eva- 
sions and   downright  lies  that  are   sapping  the 
[170] 


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country's  strength.  A  well-informed  man  in  the 
club  to-day  told  me  that  there  is  nothing  but 
disaffection  among  our  men  at  the  front,  and 
often  open  mutiny.  The  Staff  does  nothing  but 
play  cards  and  philander.  This  was  not  a  mere 
idle  rumour-bearer  either — a  type  that  I  deplore 
— but  one  with  friends  of  behind-the-scenes 
knowledge.  What  will  become  of  us?  I  can 
see  no  hope  unless  some  clear-sighted,  vigorous, 
independent  man,  such,  say,  as  Lord  Northcliffe, 
is  put  at  the  head  of  affairs. 

If  you  see  a  letter  in  the  papers  to-morrow  to- 
this  effect,  signed  "True  Patriot,"  you  will  know 
who  wrote  it. — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 


CX 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — Excuse  pencil. 
Your  letters  are  a  great  joy. 
I  am  getting  along  all  right,  but  there's  a  fear 
that  my  arm  may  have  to  be  operated  on.     It's 


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too  much  cut  about  to  be  healthy.  I  will  keep 
you  informed. 

This  is  a  topping  hospital,  and  my  day  nurse 
is  an  angel.  Why  she  is  a  nurse  at  all  I  can't 
imagine,  for  she's  desperately  pretty  and  ought 
long  ago  to  have  been  snapped  up  and  by  now 
be  a  mother.  She'd  make  a  jolly  one.  But  there 
is  a  kind  of  pretty  girl  that  doesn't  marry,  and 
perhaps  she's  one  of  them.  She  has  pretty  hands 
too,  and  they're  never  so  pretty  as  when  she  is 
holding  up  the  thermometer  to  read  it,  or  meas- 
uring medicine.  I  started  to  say  something  of 
this  kind  to  her  the  other  day,  but  then,  realising 
that  every  patient  must  have  done  it  before,  I 
stopped.  Anyway,  I  guess  she  knew  that  her 
hands  were  seen  to  advantage  then  even  before 
any  one  mentioned  it. 

I  wouldn't  mind  a  few  books.  The  Irish  R.M. 
series  I  should  love  to  read  again. — Your  loving 

TERENCE 


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CXI 

ELLEN  FRISBY,  PARLOUR-MAID  TO  MRS.  HAVEN, 
TO  A  PRISONER  IN  HOLLAND 

DEAR  SIR, — The  lady  I  live  with  has  permitted 
me  to  open  up  correspondence  with  one  of  our 
brave  lads  in  prison,  and  I  therefore  write  to  you 
in  the  hope  that  a  letter  may  cheer  you  up.  Please 
answer  it  if  it  does,  and  then  I  will  write  again. 

Every  one  in  England  is  singing  "Keep  the 
home  fires  burning,"  and  that  is  what  we  are  all 
trying  to  do  for  you.  It  is  a  lovely  melody,  and  I 
wonder  if  you  have  it  over  there.  Another  very 
nice  new  song  is  called  "A  little  bit  of  Heaven," 
and  another,  "I  couldn't  believe  it."  If  you  are 
fond  of  music  you  will  like  these  when  you  come 
back.  Or  perhaps  you  have  a  gramophone.  I 
am  sure  I  have  read  bits  in  the  papers  about 
gramophones  in  prison  camps. 

Living  at  Aylesbury  I  don't  often  get  a  chance 
to  see  a  play,  but  I  went  to  my  married  sister's  at 
Hither  Green  last  month,  and  one  night  we  saw 
"Mr.  Wu."  It  is  very  terrible,  all  about  a  wicked 

[173] 


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Chinaman  who  gets  an  Englishwoman  into  his 
power.  I  hope  I  shall  never  go  to  China,  but 
that  is  not  likely. 

We  have  the  pictures  here,  of  course,  and  I  go 
there  regularly  on  my  night  out.  Charlie  was 
there  last  week.  He  is  funny.  It  was  in  a  piece 
called  "Charlie  at  the  Bank,"  where  he  saves  the 
bank  from  thieves  and  marries  the  beautiful  lady 
clerk;  but  it  is  all  a  dream,  and  really  the  cashier 
marries  her.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  these  haves 
very  much,  but  this  one  was  so  comic  I  couldn't 
help  laughing.  This  week  we  had  a  film  with 
Hazel  Dawn  in  it.  She  is  a  sweet  creature.  But 
cook  says  that  Mary  Pickford  is  the  real  one,  and 
my  brother  Bert  says  so  too.  But  she  hasn't  been 
to  Aylesbury  yet.  I  wonder  if  you  have  seen  her. 

The  house  where  I  am  parlour-maid  belongs  to 
Mrs.  Haven,  an  old  lady.  I  am  very  fond  of  her. 
— Your  well-wisher,  ELLEN  FRISBY 


[174] 


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CXII 

LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  PARK-STAN MER 

[Telegram] 

WILL  meet  you  Friday,  Marshall's,  one. 

HELEN 

CXIII 
MRS.  PARK-STANMER  TO  MAJOR  THISTLETON 

DEAR  MAJOR  THISTLETON, — I  have  an  en- 
gagement for  lunch  in  town  on  Friday,  but  as 
that  is  your  only  day  I  will  break  it.     Expect 
me  at  the  Carl  ton  at  1.15. — Yours  sincerely, 
AMABEL  PARK-STANMER 

CXIV 

MRS.  PARK-STANMER  TO  LADY  STARR 

[Telegram] 

VERY   sorry   impossible   meet   you   to-morrow 
after  all.    Writing.  AMABEL 

[175] 


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cxv 

MRS.  PARK-STAN MER  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR, — I  was  heart-broken  to  have  to 
telegraph  putting  you  off,  but  Reggie  suddenly 
developed  a  temperature  and  I  dared  not  leave 
him.  He  is  much  better  to-day,  you  will  be  glad 
to  know.  Life  is  a  dreary  business  here — just 
the  same  old  round. — Your  disappointed 

AMABEL 

CXVI 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  HIS  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — Don't  worry;  but  there's  no 
hope  for  it,  my  arm  has  got  to  come  off;  indeed, 
by  the  time  you  get  this  the  operation  will  be 
over,  and  you  will  be  a  soldier's  wife  in  earnest. 
Dear  old  girl,  I  am  so  sorry.  The  great  thing  is 
that  it's  only  the  left.  My  strong  right  arm — and 
it  will  probably  be  all  the  stronger  now — is  still 
at  your  service. 

[176] 


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Tell  Bimbo.     I  should  like  to  know  how  it 
affects  him. — Your  maimed  but  devoted 

TERENCE 


CXVII 

PRIVATE    ERNEST    BANKS    (IN    GERMANY)    TO 
LADY  STARR 

YOUR  LADYSHIP,  DEAR  MADAM, — I  hope  as 
I  address  you  right,  but  I  never  wrote  to  a  Lady 
before  and  never  expected  to.  I  think  you  hit 
on  a  fine  notion  in  sending  papers  instead  of 
letters,  for  letters  can't  mean  much  unless  they 
have  home  news  in  them.  My  mother  writes 
regularly,  and  so  does  a  brother  of  mine  at  Wigan, 
who  would  be  fighting  only  he  has  tuberkuloses, 
and  they  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know,  unless 
it  is  about  the  war,  when  it  is  all  blacked  out.  I 
would  take  it  as  a  favour,  while  thanking  you,  My 
Lady,  all  the  same,  if  you  would  send  me  Rey- 
nold s's  instead  of  the  Weekly  Times ,  and  one  or 
two  comics  instead  of  Punch.  A  mate  of  mine 
who  hasn't  any  friends  would  like  John  Bull,  if 

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that  is  not  making  too  bold. — Wishing  you  God's 
blessing,  I  remain,  yours  respectfully, 

ERNEST  BANKS 

CXVIII 

MRS.  RICHARD  BERNAL  TO  HER  HUSBAND 

MY  DEAREST  DICK, — The  most  wonderful 
thing  has  happened,  and  now  it  is  more  important 
than  ever  that  you  keep  your  dear  head  down  in 
the  trenches  and  come  back  safe  and  sound. 

One  of  his  names  must  be  Richard,  both  after 
you  and  Uncle  Richard.  The  other  we  can  think 
out  together.  I  feel  perfectly  fit,  and  am  your 
adoring  wife,  OLIVE 

CXIX 

Miss  HERMIONE  HUNTRESSE  TO  NANCY  BERNAI, 

DARLING  NANCY, — You  were  very  foolish  not 
to  come  to  our  show.  Our  song  was  topping,  and 
we  were  encored  again  and  again.  Every  one  was 
there  except  the  Tommies.  It  seems  that  there 

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had  been  some  case  of  insubordination  or  some- 
thing, and  the  Colonel  stopped  them;  but  as  the 
performers  had  made  all  their  plans,  and  the 
supper  was  ordered,  and  so  forth,  we  just  went 
through  with  it  for  the  officers  and  their  and  our 
friends.  The  Tommies  are  more  fun,  of  course, 
because  they  shout  out  such  weird  things.  I  had 
frightfully  good  luck,  for  I  sat  at  supper  between 
George  Graves  and  Nelson  Keys,  and  they  both 
said  that  no  professional  could  make  up  more 
cleverly  than  I  did.  Really  it  must  be  great  fun 
to  be  on  the  stage,  they're  all  so  jolly;  and  it's  so 
splendid  of  them  to  wear  themselves  out  like  this 
for  the  Tommies. 

I  shall  count  on  you  for  next  time.    There  are 
some  tableaux  in  the  offing. — Yours  everly, 

HERMIONE 

cxx 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

DEAR  B., — Having  half  an  hour  to  kill  while 
waiting  for  a  train,  I  examined  a  picture  post  card 

[179] 


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stoop  close  to  the  station  and  was  interested  by 
the  change  in  them  and  their  general  tone.  The 
comic  cards  have  taken  on  a  new  breadth  since 
the  war  and  now  and  then  throw  back  to  Rowland- 
son  and  Gilray.  A  rather  rough-and-ready  type 
of  man  being  at  the  moment,  to  us,  the  most 
important  creature  on  earth,  everything  is  being 
done  for  him,  and  that  is  the  kind  of  humour  he 
is  supposed  to  like.  This  is  natural  enough  and 
there  is  no  great  harm  in  it,  but  it  is  not  pretty, 
and  it  lowers  women  just  at  a  time  when  they  are 
rising,  in  all  directions,  above  mere  playthings  and 
chattel  ry. 

Of  course  anti-German  jokes  are  very  promi- 
nent. An  ingenious  one  is  a  post  card,  all  over 
stamps  and  post  marks,  addressed 

"H.M.  THE  KAISER, 
Hotel  d'Angleterre, 
Calais." 

This  address  is  crossed  through  and  "Not  found, 
Try  Constantinople,"  "Left  years  ago,  Try  Ber- 
lin," and  "Away,  address  uncertain,  Try  St. 
Helena,"  is  scrawled  over  it.  That  American 

[180] 


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satire  against  the  Kaiser,  "Meinzelf  und  Gott," 
which  appeared  some  years  ago,  has  also  been  re- 
vived. Much  of  it  is  out  of  date,  but  the  English 
in  their  search  for  laughter  have  never  minded 
that.  It  begins : 

Der  Kaiser  of  dis  Vaterlandt 
Und  gott  on  high,  all  dings  command; 
Ve  two — ach!     Doan't  you  underschtand  ? 
Meinzelf — und  gott. 

Vile  some  men  zing  der  power  divine, 
Mein  soldiers  zing  "Der  Wacht  am  Rhein" 
Und  drink  der  healt  in  German  vine 
Of  Me — und  gott. 

Another  card  prints  "A  Certain  Cure  for  the 
German  Measles,"  which  runs  thus: 

"Mix  some  Woolwich  Powders  with  Tinct.  of 
Iron  or  Essence  of  Lead,  and  administer  in  pills 
(or  shells).  Have  ready  a  little  British  Army 
(a  little  goes  a  long  way),  some  Brussels  Sprouts, 
and  French  Mustard.  Add  a  little  'Canadian 
Cheese  and  Australian  Lamb  and  season  with  the 
best  Indian  Curry.  Set  it  on  a  Kitchener  and 
keep  stirring  until  quite  hot. 

[181] 


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*"If  this  does  not  make  the  Patient  perspire 
freely,  rub  the  best  Russian  Bear's  Grease  on  his 
chest  and  wrap  in  Berlin  Wool. 

"DR.  CANNON'S  PRESCRIPTION. 

"P.£. — ;The  Patient  must  on  no  account  have 
any  Peace-Soup  until  the  swelling  in  the  head  has 
quite  disappeared." 

Here  is  another : 


Special  War  News!! 

RECIPE 

HOW   TO   COOK   A   GERMAN    SAUSAGE 

Cook  on  a  British  Kitchener,  use  a  Japan  enamelled 
saucepan,  Greece  well  with  Russian  tallow,  flavour  with 
a  little  Jellicoe;  Servia  up  (Help!)  with  little  French 
capers  and  Brussels  scouts. 

There  are  also  comic  histories  of  the  Zeppelin 
scares,  and  so  forth.  I  suppose  that  Berlin  is 
similarly  satirical  and  boastful  as  regards  our- 
selves. It  does  not,  I  confess,  impart  much  of  a 
thrill  to  see  a  knot  of  young  men  laughing  at  this 

[182] 


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braggart  stuff.  But  if  Kitchener  was  right,  as  I 
believe  he  will  turn  out  to  be,  they  will  all  have 
to  do  more  than  exchange  comic  post  cards  before 
the  end  is  gained. 

Among  the  non-physical  jokes  is  a  card  bearing 
a  facsimile  of  a  ten-shilling  note  and  these  words: 

Don't  trouble  to  send  me  a  post  card, 
Don't  bother  to  drop  me  a  line, 

Just  send  me  this  in  an  envelope 
And  I  shall  get  on  jolly  fine. 

— That  should  be  popular. 

When  it  comes  to  the  final  tussle,  however, 
humour,  I  take  it,  never  wins.  Sentiment  is 
always  first,  and  the  sentimental  cards  are  many. 
There  is  a  whole  series,  intensely  popular,  of  a 
young  soldier  kissing  his  girl  good-bye — photo- 
graphed from  life — with  such  quatrains  as  this: 

For  a  little  while  we  must  be  parted, 
Duty  calls,  dear — I  must  do  my  share. 

Thoughts  of  home  will  gladden  days  of  absence, 
And  I  know  you're  thinking  of  me  there. 

This  is  said  by  the  warrior  with  his  lips  full  on 
hers.  I  see  that  card  being  sent  not  only  by 


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thpse  soldiers  who  have  won  the  right  to  such 
intimacy,  but  by  those  who  wish  for  it — and  not 
to  one  girl  only  either. 

And  then  there  is  also  this,  on  a  deeper  note: 

MY    SON 

To  my  dear  son  from  whom  I  parted, 
Son  of  Empire,  lion-hearted, 
Father's  blessings  I  am  sending 
Knowing  war  has  but  one  ending, 
Darkness  MUST  give  way  to  LIGHT, 
TRUTH  and  RIGHT  are  always  MIGHT. 

—Yours,  R.  H. 


CXXI 

NANCY  BERNAL  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — You  ask  for  the 
latest  news  of  all  of  us.  Well,  father  goes  on  as 
usual,  quite  sure  that  everything  will  be  all  right 
and  doing  all  kinds  of  "bits"  for  the  war.  He 
began,  as  you  know,  by  being  a  Special  Constable. 
Then  he  was  a  G.R.,  which  some  people  call  the 
Gorgeous  Recks,  as  I  expect  you  have  heard. 
[184] 


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Others  say  that  the  letters  stand  for  "Got  Rheu- 
matism"; and  this  was  only  too  true  in  father's 
case,  so  he  had  to  give  it  up  and  take  to  car- 
pentry. He  now  spends  all  his  odd  time  at  a 
Hospital  Supply  Depot  making  bed  tables  and 
crutches. 

Our  Belgians  have  at  last  gone,  and  this  has  at 
once  united  the  family  again  and  given  it  more 
time  to  be  out. 

As  for  mother,  she  is  absolutely  in  her  element, 
for  she  has  got  a  new  Fund  Committee,  with 
several  really  swagger  people  on  it  too.  This 
makes  her  fourteenth,  so  you  may  guess  we  don't 
see  much  of  her.  The  new  Fund  is  to  provide 
cigarette  cases  in  which  our  brave  boys  may  keep 
the  cigarettes  that  are  sent  them,  and  some  day, 
father  says,  there  will  be  a  further  fund  to  provide 
bigger  cases  in  which  to  keep  those.  But  nothing 
shakes  mother's  purposefulness,  and  really  we  all 
ought  to  be  delighted,  for  she  is  so  busy  that  she 
never  thinks  of  her  health  at  all  any  more,  except 
on  Sundays. 

I  am  afraid  I  am  the  only  lazy  one,  although  I 
still  visit  the  canteens  and  am  often  selling  things 


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at  bazaars  or  performances  and  even  in  the  streets. 
Last  week,  for  example,  I  sold  Montenegrin  flags 
on  what  was  called  "The  Montenegro  Flag  Day." 
One  old  lady  who  bought  one  said  that  it  would 
be  much  more  effective  if  a  few  Montenegroes 
could  process  through  London  so  that  people  could 
see  the  brave  black  fellows  in  the  flesh.  I  ought 
to  have  my  photograph  in  every  number  of  the 
Sketch  and  Tatler  as  "interested  in  war  charities" ; 
but  not  being  titled  I  don't. — Your  loving  niece, 

NANCY 

P.S. — Soon  I  may  have  some  real  news  for 
vou.    I  hope  so. 


CXXII 

REGINALD  BROOKES  TO  His  FORMER  SCHOOL- 
FELLOW, JOHN  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  LOBSTER, — I  am  having  no  end  of  a  time 
here,  and  yesterday  I  took  a  machine  up  alone 
and  was  flying  for  half  an  hour.  There's  nothing 
like  it,  I  tell  you;  motoring  isn't  in  it.  You  don't 


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want  to  do  anything  in  the  world  but  get  off  it, 
and  be  flying  and  flying.  Eating  and  sleeping 
are  just  a  bore.  In  fact,  I  can't  sleep  any  more. 
I  lie  awake  and  wait  for  the  dawn  so  as  to  be  out 
again  and  get  through  my  trials  quickly,  so  that 
I  can  go  to  the  front  and  do  some  real  work, 
either  at  scouting  or  doing  in  the  horrible  Hun. 

You  really  ought  to  come.  No  one  made  any 
bones  about  it  when  I  said  I  was  nineteen,  but  of 
course  I  look  older  than  you.  Still  they're  too 
keen  on  real  tryers  to  worry  much.  If  only  you 
could  square  your  mater!  If  you're  not  quick 
you  won't  find  me  here,  because  the  very  first 
moment  I'm  off  to  drop  a  few  bombs  on  Little 
Willie  or  whoever  comes  my  way. — Yours  ever, 

SNARKIE 

CXXIII 

LADY  STARR  TO  NANCY  BERNAL 

y 

MY  DEAR  NANCY, — Your  postscript  is  very 
interesting.  Tell  me  his  name  and  all  about  him. 
— Your  loving  AUNT  HELEN 

[187] 


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CXXIV 

NANCY  BERNAL  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAREST  AUNT  HELEN, — How  horribly 
penetrating  you  are !  It  is  Jerry  Harding,  Toby's 
friend.  We  have  been  engaged  for  an  eternity — 
ever  since  last  May — but  no  one  knows  yet 
except  one  or  two.  No  one  in  the  family  except 
Uncle  Richard,  who  has  told  me  all  about 
special  licences. 

Jerry  is  in  France  now,  and  I  want  to  be 
married  on  his  first  leave;  but  he  has  an  absurd 
idea  that  we  ought  to  wait  till  the  war  is  over. 
Dick  and  Olive  didn't,  so  why  should  we*? 
Anyhow,  Uncle  Richard  is  going  to  help  us.  He 
says  there  can't  be  too  many  marriages.  Isn't 
that  a  lovely  doctrine*? — Yours  devotedly, 

NANCY 


[188] 


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cxxv 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — I  had  an  experience 
yesterday  which  has  made  me  think.  I  found 
myself  in  a  third  class  carriage  with  a  Canadian 
soldier  on  his  way  to  London.  As  a  rule  I 
have  found  that  the  soldier  who  sits  opposite  one 
on  railway  journeys  is  an  innutritious  person, 
whether  he  has  been  at  the  front  or  not;  and  the 
truly  cautious  will  avoid  his  eye,  because  too  often 
his  only  desire  is  to  talk.  He  is  neither  Ortheris 
nor  Learoyd,  and  far  indeed  from  that  other  of 
the  great  triumvirate,  but  for  whom  we  should 
not,  I  suppose,  expect  even  what  we  do  from 
such  travelling  companions.  The  deception  of 
literature  once  more! 

Nor  was  this  man  food  for  the  novelist,  but  he 
had  a  certain  big  simplicity  and  before  we  reached 
Charing  Cross  he  was  actually  on  my  hands.  To 
begin  with,  he  was,  as  the  slang  phrase  has  it, 
"oiled" ;  which  is  a  condition  of  alcoholic  comfort 
well  on  this  side  of  inebriety  but  conducive  to  an 

[189] 


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ea§y  decline  to  that  state.  He  was  carrying 
on  with  the  aid  of  two  bottles  of  beer,  one  on 
each  side,  like  John  Gilpin,  and  the  second  so 
very  "up"  that  when  he  opened  it  it  made  the 
carriage  for  a  moment  or  two  look  like  a  snow- 
storm. Having  finished  what  remained,  after 
honourably  inviting  me  to  share  it,  he  began  to 
talk,  but  not  being  able  to  hear  him  I  asked  him 
to  come  over  to  my,  the  drier,  end  of  the  com- 
partment. 

"That's  good,"  he  said.  "You  can't  hear  me, 
and  I  can't  see  you"  He  had  a  Scotch  accent 
with  the  least  touch  of  France  in  it. 

"How's  that*?"  I  asked,  feeling  that  I  already 
knew  the  answer,  for  I  thought  he  was  humor- 
ously referring  to  the  effect  of  his  potations.  But 
he  astonished  and  shocked  me  by  replying  in 
the  one  word  "Gassed!"  and  I  then  noticed  for 
the  first  time  how  wrong  his  poor  eyes  were. 

He  was  a  huge,  powerful  man,  with  a  bronzed 
good-humoured  face  in  which  those  stricken 
watery  orbs  were  quite  lost.  He  was  also  a  mass 
of  fheumatism  from  long  exposure  in  the  trenches 
up  to  his  waist  in  mud;  but  he  took  it  all 
[190] 


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philosophically.  The  doctor  had  told  him  he' 
might  recover  his  sight,  but  unfortunately  he  was 
a  little  on  the  old  side.  Fifty-one.  He  came 
from  Canada,  where  he  had  left  a  farm  and  a  wife. 
He  had  volunteered  as  thirty-nine.  When  such 
a  scrap  was  on,  how  could  he  be  out  of  it*?  He 
was  to  return  to  Shornclifle  the  next  day  with 
his  kit,  which  he  was  now  on  his  way  to  town 
to  fetch.  It  was  at  a  house  somewhere  near 
Victoria,  and  he  had  no  notion  how  to  get  there. 
Could  I  direct  him? 

Of  the  war  he  had  little  to  say,  except  that 
things  happened  in  war  that  were  more  horrible 
than  the  stay-at-home  people  would  ever  believe; 
and  that  to  use  gas  wasn't  playing  the  game. 
But  the  Germans,  thank  God,  were  getting  very 
short  of  food,  and  very  tired  of  fighting,  and  the 
end  could  not  be  far. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  he  had  lost  his  ticket, 
because  that  is  the  first  thing  a  soldier  does, 
even  without  the  assistance  of  gas  or  oil.  We 
spent  the  time  between  London  Bridge  and 
Charing  Cross — and  you  know  how  long  that  can 
be — in  hunting  for  it.  His  fingers  being  all 

[191] 


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thumbs  and  his  clothes  so  tight  on  him  that  to 
get  them  into  his  pockets  at  all  was  a  difficulty,  I 
went  through  them  for  him.  This  shows  either 
that  I  must  suggest  honesty  or  that  he  was 
abnormally  trustful. 

His  pockets  contained  practically  everything — 
the  rubbish  of  months — except  the  ticket.  Inci- 
dentally they  contained  a  good  deal  of  money — 
numbers  of  dirty  pound  notes  in  wads  of  half  a 
dozen  or  so — and  I  warned  him  to  separate  them 
and  be  careful  of  them,  and  I  also  undertook  to 
take  him  in  a  taxi  to  his  address,  an  offer  which 
he  received  with  no  enthusiasm  whatever. 

Having  arranged  matters  at  Charing  Cross  as 
regards  the  lost  ticket  (and  there  the  British 
Army's  indifference  to  scraps  of  pasteboard  is  so 
notorious  that  the  collector  was  immediately  ready 
with  note-book  and  pencil),  I  steered  him  to  a 
taxi,  and  asked  for  the  Victoria  address.  But 
here  he  began  to  assert  himself.  A  Canadian  of 
fifty-one  who  called  himself  thirty-nine  in  order 
to  be  in  the  fun  across  the  water  was  hardly  the 
man  to  pass  tamely  through  London  from  one 
[192] 


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terminus  to  another  without  any  halt  for  refresh- 
ment by  the  way.  We  must  first  have  a  drink. 
I  must  name  my  poison — anything  I  liked,  even 
champagne,  although  all  that  he  craved  was 
enough  beer. 

"But  it  can't  be  done,"  I  told  him.  'There 
are  regulations  against  it." 

A  look  of  inexpressible  cunning  came  into  his 
dazed  and  watery  eyes.  "I'm  telling  you  it  can 
be  done,"  he  said.  "Listen.  I'll  give  you  the 
money  outside.  .  .  ." 

I  did  what  I  could  with  him,  but  nothing 
would  keep  him  in  the  cab.  "I  must  have  a 
drink,"  he  said,  "a  long  one.  Beer,"  and  he 
leaned  out  of  the  window  and  insisted  on  stopping 
at  the  next  public-house. 

It  was  useless  to  fight  him  further,  and  in  a 
moment  he  would  have  been  through  the  window ; 
so  I  stopped  at  a  flaming  bar.  But  I  made  one 
more  effort  to  help  him.  I  would  not  come  in, 
I  said,  but  I  would  be  back  in  ten  minutes, 

if* 

and  he  must  come  along  then.  He  affected  to 
agree. 

[193J 


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On  returning,  I  found  him  established  among 
a  band  of  admirers  to  whom  he  was  handing 
shillings,  and  nothing  would  move  him;  so  with 
the  feeling  that  at  any  rate  I  had  done  my  best,  I 
abandoned  him  to  his  fate. 

One  can  hardly  expect  the  army  to  find  care- 
takers for  every  one  of  these  childish  creatures; 
but  it  is  depressing  to  thing  of  predatory  London 
lying  in  wait  for  such  natural  prey.  I  had  better, 
I  thought,  have  picked  his  pockets  of  most  of  his 
money,  as  I  could  easily  have  done  beneath  the 
poor  blind  eyes  and  fuddled  brain,  and  posted  it 
to  him  at  ShornclifTe  the  next  day.  But  this 
brilliant  thought,  like  so  many  of  its  kind,  came 
too  late. — Yours,  R.  H. 


CXXVI 

PRIVATE   ARTHUR   COLEMAN   TO   Miss   ELLEN 
FRISBY 

DEAR  Miss, — Your  letter  came  very  welcome, 
for  I  have  not  had  one  for  a  long  time,  and  that 
was  to  say  my  young  lady  as  was  had  married  a 

[194] 


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munition  worker.  Fickleness,  I  said,  thy  name  is 
woman,  but  I  don't  somehow  think  that  you  are 
like  that.  There  is  something  about  your  letter 
to  me  which  seems  to  say  that  you  would  be  true 
of  heart. 

What  you  say  about  the  new  songs  is  interest- 
ing. I  love  music.  We  have  a  gramophone  here, 
as  you  guessed,  but  the  records  are  very  old  and 
worn.  I  love  the  pictures  too. 

I  can  assure  you,  Miss  Ellen,  that  we  could  do 
with  the  sight  of  a  kind  female  face  over  here, 
where  there  are  nothing  but  men,  and  they  are 
Dutch.  It  would  not  matter  so  much  if  we  had 
something  to  do,  but  often  we  go  for  days  without 
a  job. 

Your  address  tickles  me,  because  I  once  ate 
Aylesbury  duck  at  a  restaurant  in  London  and 
that  seems  to  bring  you  nearer.  I  wonder  what 
you  are  like.  If  you  are  so  kind  as  to  write  again, 
please  tell  me  what  you  are  like.  How  tall  you 
are,  what  colour  are  your  eyes,  what  colour  is 
your  hair.  You  might  enclose  your  photo. — 
Yours  respectfully,  ARTHUR  COLEMAN 


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*  P.S. — And  how  old  you  are?  I  know  ladies 
don't  like  telling  this,  but  perhaps  you'll  make  an 
exception  for  a  poor  prisoner. 

P.S.  2. — And  if  you  have  any  one  to  walk  out 
with. 

CXXVII 

BIMBO    DERRICK    (AGED    8)    TO    HIS    FATHER, 
CAPTAIN  DERRICK 

MY  DEAR  DAD, — I  am  so  sorry  you  will  have 
only  one  arm,  but  I  shall  like  helping  you  to  do 
things.  Please  have  an  iron  hook  like  Captain 
Hook  in  Peter  Pan.  He  says  every  one  ought  to 
have  one. 

I  had  such  a  lot  of  presents  on  my  birthday. 
Uncle  Digby  gave  me  a  whole  suit  of  Karky. 
Mr.  Trower  gave  me  a  ripping  cannon.  Aunt 
Margaret  gave  me  a  box  of  soldiers.  Cousin 
Nancy  gave  me  a  badge  of  your  regiment. 
Nurse  gave  me  a  helmet.  Mother  gave  me  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress.  I  have  made  myself  a  mask 

[196] 


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for  gas.  Teenie  gave  me  a  photograph  frame 
and  I  have  out  General  Joff  in  it. — Your  loving 
son,  BIMBO 

CXXVIII 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — Now  that  the  operation  is  over 
and  I  am  really  getting  better,  I  can't  pretend  to 
be  anything  but  rather,  happy.  God  knows  I 
would  like  another  cut  in  at  the  Boches,  and  it  is 
pretty  ghastly  to  know  that  that  is  impossible, 
ever  again,  with  only  one  arm;  but  on  the  other 
hand — that's  a  joke,  I  see  now,  but  I  didn't  mean 
it  for  one — I  must  confess  to  rather  a  blessed 
feeling  of  relief  that  all  those  horrors  I  have  been 
through  are  behind  me — the  noise  and  shells,  the 
filth,  the  blood,  the  mud,  the  gas,  and  the  suffer- 
ings which  one  hadn't  time  or  opportunity  to  do 
anything  for.  I  shall  never  forget  it,  and  the 
nurses  tell  me  that  even  now  I  am  fighting  half 
the  night;  but  it's  behind  me  all  the  same. 

Being  one-armed  will  be  a  bore,  but  not  much 

[197] 


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more  than  a  bore.  At  any  rate,  that's  how  I 
think  of  it  when  I  get  a  visit  from  a  poor  devil 
upstairs  who  is  led  here  at  tea-time  most  days 
— a  tall  handsome  young  captain,  full  of  money, 
who  will  never  see  again.  The  bullet  took  him 
sideways  and  went  through  both  eyes.  A  big 
powerful  fellow,  with  a  very  gentle  expression, 
but  whether  he  always  had  that,  or  whether  it  has 
come  with  blindness,  as  it  so  often  seems  to  do,  I 
don't  know. 

He  comes  in  to  tea  and  we  compare  notes. 
He's  learning  Braille  as  hard  as  he  can,  so  as  to 
be  ready  for  the  black  life  in  front  of  him.  My 
God,  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  blind! 

Bimbo  was  very  funny  about  Captain  Hook. 
I'm  not  sure  he  isn't  right.  A  hook  would  be 
useful.  We  must  consider  this. 

Do  all  wounded  men,  I  wonder,  feel  like  falling 
in  love  with  their  nurses?  I  know  I  could,  and  I 
know  equally  that  all  her  smiles  and  tendernesses 
in  return  would  mean  nothing  more  than  a  sweet 
professional  kindness.  Indeed,  part  of  the  pain 
of  illness  is  the  bitter  knowledge  that  nothing  can 

[198] 


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really  touch  these  adored  angelic  mechanisms  of 
mercy. 

I  shall  soon  be  back  now,  my  own. 

Kisses  to  the  whitebait.  TERENCE 


CXXIX 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

[Telegram} 

JOHN  safe  at  Devizes,  returning  with  me. 
Writing.  RICHARD 

cxxx 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

DEAR  Miss  GREY, — Our  lot  have  got  marching 
orders  at  last.  We  cross  on  Tuesday,  I  believe, 
but  shall  not  be  in  the  firing  line  for  a  bit.  Wish 
me  good  luck.  Directly  we  get  to  France  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  a  favour,  but  not  before. — Yours 
sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 


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CXXXI 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  LAST  WAYS 

MY  DEAR  KATE, — I  hope  my  telegram  com- 
forted you.  But  there  is  nothing  to  be  alarmed 
about.  I  have  the  impulsive  warrior  safely  in  hand. 
He  had  been  inflamed  by  an  old  schoolfellow  who 
had  falsified  his  age  and  joined  the  flying  corps, 
and  John  naturally  wished  to  do  the  same.  I 
don't  blame  him:  do  you?  Still,  as  an  elder, 
and  his  uncle,  and  your  brother,  I  have  delivered 
a  lecture  (in  which  I  only  faintly  believe)  on  his 
conduct;  but  it  was  not  exactly  choked  with  con- 
vincing arguments,  for  the  deceit  of  which  he  has 
been  guilty  is  of  the  whitest,  and  any  penitence 
that  he  might  have  felt  disappeared  this  morning 
when  he  found  in  a  paper  a  photograph  of  the 
Queen  in  smiling  tolerance  by  the  bedside  of  a 
wounded  boy  who  had  similarly  overstated  his  age. 
Your  claims  upon  him  for  a  year  or  so  longer  he 
cannot  begin  to  understand,  being  in  a  state  of 
excitement  that  puts  motherland  before  mother 
[200] 


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— particularly  as  motherland  needs  aviators  and 
mother  doesn't. 

All  the  same  he  is  coming  back  prepared  to 
resume  his  studies,  if  the  schoolmaster  will  have 
him.  As  he  is  not  at  Radley,  possibly  he  will. 

Don't  be  too  hard  on  him.  It  is  of  such  stuff 
that  heroes  are  made. — Yours,  R.  H. 

CXXXII 

PORTIA  GREY  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  MR.  STARR, — I  hope  this  will  catch  you 
before  you  sail.  It  is  just  to  say  that  I  shall 
think  of  you  continually  and  hope  for  you  to 
come  back  safe  and  sound,  and  to  ask  you  to 
telegraph  an  address  as  soon  as  you  can.  Father 
says  that  he  hopes,  when  you  get  your  leave,  that 
you  will  give  us  a  call  at  Ashford. 

I  can't  imagine  what  the  favour  can  be. — Yours 
sincerely,  PORTIA  GREY 


[201] 


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CXXXIII 

LADY  STARR  TO  HER  SISTER-IN-LAW,  MRS.  DAU- 

BENEY,  IN  INDIA 

DEAR  HILDA, — I  have  been  making  a  collec- 
tion of  odd  advertisements  in  the  Personal  Column 
of  the  Times  ever  since  the  war  broke  out.  A  com- 
plete reissue  of  the  most  striking  ones  at  the  end 
of  the  war  would  throw  a  curious  light  on  England 
under  the  struggle,  and  not  always  too  admirable 
either,  for  the  beggars  have  come  out  far  too 
strong.  So  also  has  that  class  of  person  who  is 
too  much  concerned  with  the  good  behaviour  of 
other  people.  I  copy  for  you  a  few  of  the 
stranger  ones  in  my  album: — 

This  was  very  early,  when  some  of  the  Nuts 
were  supposed  to  be  holding  back: 

"ENGLISHWOMAN  undertakes  to  FORM  a  REGI- 
MENT of  WOMEN  for  the  FIRING  LINE  if  lawn 
tennis  and  cricketing  young  men  will  agree  to 
act  as  Red  Cross  nurses  to  such  a  Regiment." 

[202] 


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Four  months  later  the  scornful  were  still  on  the 
warpath : 

"WHY  not  design  a  'pretty'  uniform  to  attract 
the  'knuts'  to  the  colours'?  Something  which 
would  harmonise  with  heliotrope  socks,  lavender 
gloves,  spotted  waistcoats,  and  mauve  hand- 
kerchiefs would  appeal  irresistibly  to  their 
sesthetic  sense — the  only  sense  they  possess. 
Khaki  is  so  unromantic." 

Here  is  an  ingeniously  worded  request: 

"WlLL     ANYBODY     CONTRIBUTE     £5     per     Week 

to  help  keep  wife  and  family  while  I  go  to  kill 
some  Germans'?  Otherwise  impossible.  I  am 
a  crack  shot  and  good  horseman." 

I  like  the  following  trio: 

"A  PESSIMISTIC  AMERICAN,  frequenter  of  a 
well-known  London  restaurant,  is  assured  that  his 
audible  bets  on  the  'probable  progress'  (  ?)  of  our 
enemies  are  as  distasteful  to  his  neighbours  as 
they  are  likely  to  be  unprofitable — and  dangerous 
— to  himself." 

[203] 


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"American  PESSIMIST  would  willingly  lose 
many  luncheons  if  he  could  make  some  of  the 
'war  over  in  a  month'  party  realise  the  necessity 
for  every  Englishman  to  prepare  himself  for  a 
long  hard  tussle  with  a  powerful  and  unscrupulous 
enemy." 

"!F  the  person  who  addressed  Pessimistic 
American  in  this  column  yesterday  will  COMMUNI- 
CATE HIMSELF  to  'Optimistic  American'  the 
latter  will  undertake  to  make  suitable  representa- 
tions with  as  much  vigour  as  may  be  necessary  or 
desirable  to  his  tactless  and  ill-advised  fellow- 
countrymen." 

There  were  several  of  the  following  kind: 

"QUESTIONS.  How  many  hundred  thousand 
dogs  round  London?  How  much  do  they  cost? 
How  many  famished  Belgians  or  Frenchmen 
would  that  sum  help?  How  many  comforts  for 
our  troops  would  it  buy?" 

This  is  one  of  an  anti-football  series: 

"ENGLAND'S   GREATEST   NEED — a   ZEPPELIN 
[204] 


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BOMB   in  the  middle  of  a  football  field  on  a 
Saturday  afternoon." 

The  next  one  puzzles  me,  for  I  have  never  heard 
of  any  ostracism  of  anyone.  We  English  are  far 
too  uncertain  of  ourselves  to  take  such  an  uncom- 
fortable line  as  that.  Also,  we  still  cherish  an 
ideal  of  individual  freedom: 

"I  am  a  very  HEALTHY-LOOKING  VIGOROUS 
YOUNG  MAN  and  over  6  ft.  in  height,  in  appear- 
ance an  ideal  soldier.  Nevertheless  I  am  prevented 
by  reasons  which  would  satisfy  the  most  captious 
critic  from  joining  the  forces.  Who  will  advise 
me  how  I  am  to  avoid  being  ostracised  by  most 
men  and  all  women1?  Hints  and  suggestions  will 
be  gratefully  acknowledged  by  one  who,  through 
no  fault  of  his  own,  is  dejected,  lonely,  wretched, 
and  virtually  outlawed." 

Here  is  the  war  in  earnest: 

"SKIN  !  OFFICER  wishes  to  THANK  the 
numerous  persons  whose  offers  of  skin  he  appreci- 
ates. He  almost  regrets  his  inability  to  accept 
more  than  one," 

[205] 


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As  you  know,  Vincent  is  on  the  Staff  in  France, 
and  I  have  seen  him  only  once  since  the  war 
began.  My  Toby  is  a  soldier  too,  and  is  now  in 
France,  so  that  I  open  the  papers  very  nervously, 
even  although  I  am  always  assured  that  wives  and 
mothers  have  private  information  some  days  in 
advance  of  the  Press. 

The  poor  Indians,  I  heard,  were  not  a  great 
success  at  the  front.  It  was  too  cold  and  wet  for 
them.  The  Dome  at  Brighton,  where  we  used  to 
hear  Patti  (you  remember4?)  and  Edward  Lloyd 
and  Santley,  is  now  a  hospital  for  them.  I 
was  at  Brighton  for  a  day  last  week  to  see  old 
Mrs.  Burlingham,  and  several  charabancs  of 
wounded  Indians  in  lovely  blue  robes  and  turbans, 
with  dazzling  smiling  teeth,  went  by.  A  strange 
sight.  And  a  little  while  ago  I  read  a  most 
impressive  account  of  a  funeral  pyre  on  one  of 
the  South  Downs  where  they  burn  their  dead  at 
dawn.  That  is  stranger  still!  But  everything 
is  strange  now. — Your  loving  HELEN 


[206] 


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CXXXIV 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — My  blind  officer  has  been  in 
again  to-day.  He  seemed  a  bit  shaky,  I  thought, 
and  not  up  to  much,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he 
began  to  gulp,  and  then  he  broke  down  com- 
pletely. 

As  I  guessed  he  would  rather  be  alone,  I  rang 
for  the  nurse  and  she  steered  him  away. 

Then  she  came  back  and  told  me  about  it.  Of 
course  I  had  thought  it  was  unhappiness,  a  miser- 
able new  realisation  of  his  awful  rough  luck;  but 
it  wasn't,  it  was  the  other  thing.  It  seems  that  he 
had  been  waiting  to  hear  from  his  girl  as  to 
whether  she  would  still  marry  him,  which  of  course 
he  never  for  a  moment  expected,  and  indeed  he 
had  said  good-bye  to  her,  and  this  morning  a 
letter  came  for  him  saying  that  she  loved  him 
more  than  ever  and  they  would  be  married  as 
soon  as  he  liked — directly,  for  choice,  and  this  just 
broke  him  up. 

Well,  she's  a  plucky  one,  God  bless  her ! 

[.207] 


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I  have  a  day  nurse  and  a  night  nurse  and  visits 
from  several  others  as  well.  Facetiousness  is  the 
breath  of  life  to  our  relationship.  Little  jokes 
about  everything.  "If  I  didn't  laugh  I  couldn't 
stand  it,"  one  of  them  said  to  me  yesterday. 
They  really  are  marvellous  creatures,  for  they 
work  incessantly  and  never  lose  their  temper,  at 
least  with  me,  and  seem  to  be  on  really  good 
terms  with  each  other,  which  is  rare  among  women 
when  there  are  men  about.  I  am  always  telling 
my  day  nurse,  whom  I  adore,  that  she  ought  to 
have  more  time  off,  but  directly  she  goes  off  I 
fret  for  her  and  feel  a  kind  of  resentment  at  her 
selfishness. 

I  am  to  have  a  week  or  so  in  a  London  home 
before  I  come  to  you.  I  cross  on  Tuesday,  and 
will  wire  as  to  train,  etc.  Come  to  Waterloo,  my 
sweet.  TERENCE 

cxxxv 

LADY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — Toby  is  now  established  in 
France,  near  Amiens,  and  goes  up  to  those  dreadful 

[208] 


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trenches  very  shortly.  Then  will  my  poor  heart 
begin  to  beat.  By  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune 
his  commanding  officer,  Col.  Thornton,  is  an  old 
friend  of  ours,  and  he  will,  I  am  sure,  keep  an  eye 
on  the  boy,  and  let  me  have  word  about  him  now 
and  then.  To  be  quite  candid,  he  was  an  early 
flame  of  mine ! — Yours,  H. 

P.S. — Now  that  the  "war  babies'  "  scare  is  over, 
there  are  such  a  lot  of  people  whose  houses,  I  find, 
were  being  prepared  for  the  reception  of  these 
little  strangers,  wholly  irrespective  of  public 
opinion.  Perhaps  had  this  been  known  .  .  . 

CXXXVI 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

DEAR  Miss  GREY, — Our  present  place  is 
Amiens.  We  shall  be  moving  towards  the  front 
after  a  week  or  so. 

Of  course  I  will  come  and  see  you  at  Ashford 
directly  I  get  leave;  but  I  am  awfully  shy,  and 
you  will  think  me  no  end  of  a  rotter. 

[209] 


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The  favour  I  wanted  to  ask  is,  Will  you  send 
me  your  photograph"?  I  want  to  carry  it  in  my 
breast  pocket,  because  you  have  been  so  jolly  and 
good  to  me — and  after  such  a  bad  break  on  my 
part  to  start  with  too! 

I  wish  I  could  write  more,  because  there's  heaps 
more  in  my  head  to  say,  but  it's  impossible  just 
now. — Yours  sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

CXXXVII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAREST  MOTHER, — When  the  major,  who  is 
a  very  good  sort,  saw  my  patent  West  End 
"Trench  multum  in  parvo"  he  laughed.  "You'd 
better  throw  that  away,"  he  said,  "it  will  only 
be  a  nuisance.  Everything  that  it  contains  may 
be  useful  at  one  time  or  another,  but  the  wise 
soldier  believes  that  some  one  else  should  carry  it. 
Old  campaigners,"  he  said,  "carry  only  corkscrews 
and  tin  openers,  trusting  to  the  young  ones  to 
bring  the  bottles  and  the  tins.  But  of  course,"  he 
went  on,  "a  grain  of  experience  is  worth  a  ton  of 
[210] 


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advice,  and  you'll  come  to  the  corkscrew  better  if 
you  reach  it  via  all  this  Bond  Street  tomfoolery." 
I  am  all  right  at  present  and  can  think  of 
nothing  I  want  except  a  new  pipe.  A  Loewe, 
with  no  silver  on  it.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  to  send  two.  So  far  I  have  only  heard 
distant  fighting,  not  seen  it. — Your  loving 

TOBY 


CXXXVIII 

PORTIA  GREY  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  MR.  STARR, — I  am  sending  you  a 
photograph — only  an  amateur  one  taken  with  a 
Brownie — but  I  have  no  other.  My  hair  is  in  an 
awful  mess,  but  that  is  the  dogs'  fault — they 
jumped  all  over  me.  I  am  afraid  I  am  grinning 
too;  but  you  must  put  up  with  it. 

It  is,  I  suppose,  no  use  asking  for  yours,  unless 
perhaps  one  of  your  friends  has  a  Kodak. 

I  stop  now  because  father  says  that  all  letters 
are  censored;  and  though  there  is  nothing  that 
I  want  to  say  that  I  should  mind  the  censor 

[211] 


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leading,  yet  I  mind  the  idea  of  the  censor  reading 
it.     Does  this  sound  very  foolish1? 

I  wish  it  was  not  so  cold  and  wet  for  you.  I 
would  send  you  a  periscope  only  I  feel  sure  that 
a  young  soldier  with  so  many  relations  must  have 
one. — Yours  sincerely,  PORTIA  GREY 

CXXXIX 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — It  was  a  very  exciting 
crossing,  because  the  boat  had  not  been  allowed 
to  leave  harbour  the  last  two  times  on  account  of 
rumours  of  a  submarine  in  the  Channel.  This 
means  it  was  terribly  crowded  with  the  people 
who  had  been  waiting.  I  had  my  buoyant  waist- 
coat with  me,  but  I  was  ashamed  to  wear  it  and 
sat  on  it  all  the  way  over.  It  sounds  a  very 
foolish  thing  to  say,  no  doubt;  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  it  seemed  so  snobbish  to  wish  to  save 
one's  life. 

The  passport  arrangements  are  pitiless  now. 
First  you  have  to  show  them  at  Folkestone,  and 
[212] 


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that  takes  an  hour  and  a  half  because  you  pass 
through  in  single  file.  They  ask  you  if  you  have 
any  gold  on  you,  and  if  so,  they  take  it  away  and 
give  you  paper  money  instead.  Also  they  ask 
you  if  you  have  any  letters  for  anyone  abroad, 
and  if  you  have  they  make  you  post  them.  Then 
on  the  other  side  your  passports  are  looked  at 
and  stamped  again,  and  again  you  have  to  wait 
in  single  file.  Two  or  three  people  were  turned 
back  at  Folkestone  because  they  had  omitted  to 
do  something  or  other  that  was  essential.  It  was 
terrible  for  them,  and  one  poor  woman  burst  into 
tears ;  but  no  one  relents  nowadays.  Half-crowns 
can  do  nothing  any  longer! 

The  French  official  looked  very  narrowly  from 
me  to  my  photograph  and  from  the  photograph 
to  me,  and  I  don't  wonder,  for  it  is  a  most  ghastly 
libel.  But  then  that  seems  to  be  the  rule  with 
passport  photographs,  which  are  mostly  taken,  like 
mine,  in  a  tearing  hurry  under  a  fierce  artificial 
glare.  "Mademoiselle  is  more  beautiful  than 
that,"  he  said  very  prettily.  I  wanted  to  reply 
"So  I  should  hope";  but  there  is  no  such  phrase 
in  my  vocabulary. 

[213] 


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The  war  is  much  nearer  in  Paris  than  in 
London.  This  morning  I  was  awakened  quite 
early  by  a  terrible  buzzing,  and  rushing  to  the 
window,  there  was  an  aeroplane.  It  seems  that 
aeroplane  watchmen  are  always  flying  over  the 
city. 

To-morrow  I  begin  my  work  at  Neuilly. — • 
Your  loving  Vi. 

CXL 

MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

MY  DEAR  JOAN, — Archibald  is  greatly  dis- 
appointed to  have  been  refused  as  a  stretcher- 
bearer.  He  applied  with  great  promptitude  and 
candour,  stating  his  unfortunate  tendency  to  colds 
and  liver-chills  and  the  fact  that  he  is  not  allowed 
to  lift  heavy  weights.  It  would  not  have  been 
fair  to  have  done  otherwise.  And  now  a  letter 
has  come  thanking  him  but  declining  his  services, 
and  the  poor  boy  is  in  the  deepest  dejection,  and 
has  gone  down  to  the  river  with  his  rod  to  think 
out  some  new  sphere  in  which  he  might  be  useful. 

[214] 


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I  wonder  if  your  brother,  Mr.  Haven,  could  find 
something  for  him?  He  must  know  so  many 
influential  people.  Something  that  would  come 
under  the  head  of  war  work  and  make  him  feel 
that  he  was  doing  what  is  called  his  "bit"? — 
Yours,  MAUDE 

CXLI 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

DEAR  Miss  GREY, — Thank  you  a  thousand 
times  for  the  photograph.  It  is  just  what  I 
wanted.  You  are  quite  what  I  was  expecting, 
only  better.  I  love  rough  hair  best,  and  that 
smile  (it  is  not  a  grin)  is  perfect. 

How  frightfully  clever  of  you  to  guess  I  had 
a  periscope.  It  is  like  thought-reading.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  got  several  and  gave  all  but  two 
away;  but  I  would  rather  use  one  sent  by  you 
than  any. 

I  am  arranging  about  a  photograph  of  myself. 
Not  an  amateur  one,  but  done  at  a  shop  in 
Amiens,  next  time  I  get  a  chance.  But  we  are 


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very  hard  at  it.  Your  picture  does  not  look 
a  bit  like  a  Portia.  It  is  too  jolly,  and  yet  when- 
ever I  look  at  it  I  say  Portia.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind,  but  it  must  sound  like  awful  cheek. — Yours 
very  gratefully  and  sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

CXLII 

ARCHIBALD  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  MR.  HAVEN, — The  mater  is  very  keen 
on  my  doing  something  for  the  country  in  this 
time  of  stress,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  begin.  I 
cannot  be  a  soldier  because  of  my  eyes,  which  get 
steadily  worse;  and  all  my  other  efforts  have  so 
far  been  failures.  It  would  be  very  kind  if  you 
would  think  of  something  for  me.  I  should  prefer 
it  to  be  something  I  could  do  at  home,  as  I  don't 
like  the  mater  to  be  left  all  alone.  Or  could  you 
get  me  some  Government  office  job  which  would 
occupy,  say,  from  10  till  5  or  even  5.30,  and  so 
enable  me  to  get  back  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner"? 
You  have  so  much  influence.  I  wish  I  could  offer 
my  services  free,  but  I  am  afraid  that  is  impos- 

[216] 


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sible.    And,  after  all,  I  am  giving  up  my  painting. 
— Believe  me  yours  faithfully, 

ARCHIBALD  CLAYTON-MILLS 


CXLIII 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  (NOW  IN  A  LONDON  NURSING 
HOME)  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — This  is,  as  you  discerned,  a 
most  admirable  place  and  everything  possible  is 
done  for  me.  The  doctor  says  I  may  leave  in 
ten  days.  He  has  also  cheered  me  by  the  news 
that  billiards  can  be  played  perfectly  well  by  men 
with  only  the  right  arm  left.  One  makes  an 
artificial  bridge  quite  easily.  But  farewell  golf! 
As  to  fishing,  I  am  doubtful,  because  what  be- 
comes of  the  reel?  But  I  have  no  doubt  that  all 
kinds  of  dodginesses  will  occur  to  me  in  time. 

My  neighbour  from  Africa,  who  has  a  bullet  in 
his  leg  which  defies  the  surgeons,  hobbled  in 
to-day  full  of  grievances.  London,  he  says,  is 
unbearable,  by  reason  of  the  damned  old  women 
who  want  to  shake  hands  with  you  even  in  the 

[217] 


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streets.  "There  was  one  in  the  Stores,"  he  said, 
"this  very  afternoon.  She  seized  me  by  the  hand 
and  thanked  me  publicly  for  all  I  have  done  in 
Flanders.  The  ruddy  old  fool ! — I  was  wounded 
in  the  Cameroons." 

No  callers  from  the  outer  world  to-day! 
Yesterday  I  had  three  and  was  horribly  tired. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  art  of  illness  is  to  adjust 
the  balance  between  resentment  at  not  being 
visited  and  weariness  from  the  attentions  of 
visitors. 

Kiss  the  littluns  for  me,  my  darling. 

TERENCE 

CXLIV 

TOBY  STARR  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAREST  MOTHER, — I  snatch  a  few  moments 
to  send  you  a  pencil  scrawl  saying  I  am  so  far  all 
right. 

I  had  my  first  taste  of  the  real  thing  yesterday 
and  it  was  pretty  awful,  and  for  a  bit  I  didn't 
know  how  I  was  going  to  behave.  But  I  pulled 
through  and  now  it  will  be  all  right.  I  remember 


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hearing  some  one  say  that  the  funk  in  war  is  pretty 
general,  and  that  bigger  cowards  remain  in  the  line 
than  those  that  run  away.  I  can  believe  it.  It 
must  require  an  awful  lot  of  pluck  of  an  inverted 
kind  to  scoot  under  the  eyes  of  all  one's  men  and 
pals.  Either  pluck  or  so  much  panic  that  one 
was  practically  up  the  pole  with  it.  No  amount 
of  throwing  grenades  about  when  in  training  can 
possibly  prepare  anyone  for  his  "baptism  of  fire." 
The  noise  is  so  terrific  and  scarifying.  Lots  of 
men,  old  soldiers  too,  cry  by  the  bucket  under 
it.  They  can't  help  it.  Lots  have  had  to 
give  up  and  go  back — not  their  fault,  but  their 
nerves. 

I  will  write  as  often  as  I  can,  but  you  mustn't 
expect  much.  Consider  no  news  good  news. — 
Your  loving  TOBY 

CXLV 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  ARCHIBALD  CLAYTON-MILLS 

DEAR  MR.  CLAYTON-MILLS, — You  mistake; 
I  have  no  influence  to  get  anyone  a  job  of  the 


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easy  kind  you  name.  Hard  work  is  the  only 
thing  now,  and  plenty  of  it.  If  you  cannot  fight, 
you  could  take  the  place  of  another  young  man 
who  wanted  to  fight  but  could  not  get  away.  A 
clerk,  for  example.  Or  you  could  be  a  special 
constable..  My  experience  is  that  a  man  can 
always  have  what  he  wants  in  England,  where 
feelings  are  usually  tepid,  if  he  wants  it  enough; 
that  is  to  say,  if  he  really  wants  it. — Yours  faith- 
fully, RICHARD  HAVEN 

CXLVI 

CAPTAIN  DERRICK  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST, — It  is  now  fixed  that  I  leave  on 
Saturday  morning.  Digby  will  bring  me  down 
and  stay  for  a  day  or  two.  The  train  is  the 
11.18. 

They  are  fairly  strict  about  visitors,  but  a 
stranger  got  through  to  me  to-day  and  gave  me 
the  dickens  of  a  time.  Directly  he  came  in  I 
knew  that  there  had  been  a  mistake,  but  it  was 
too  late.  He  was  full  of  apologies,  but  he  had 
[220] 


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heard  that  I  was  there  and  had  been  wounded  at 
such  and  such  a  place,  and  could  I  tell  him  any- 
thing about  his  son  who  was  in  the  same  regiment 
and  had  been  killed?  Could  I  tell  him  how  he 
died — anything  to  pass  on  to  his  poor  mother 
and  comfort  them?  Somehow,  directly  he  said 
this,  I  had  a  horrible  instinct  as  to  what  his  name 
would  be,  because  there  was  one  of  the  lieutenants, 
a  rather  poisonous  little  bounder,  who  was  killed 
under  very  painful  circumstances,  for  he  had  been 
lying  on  his  face  for  half  an  hour  blubbering  at 
the  bottom  of  the  trench  when  a  shell  fell  on  him 
and  took  his  head  clean  off.  Why,  I  cannot  say, 
but  I  instantly  knew  that  he  was  this  man's  son, 
and  when  he  went  on  to  say  what  his  name  was 
I  felt  myself  to  be  completely  in  the  cart. 

What  was  I  to  do?  What  would  you  have 
done?  I  could  say  that  I  knew  his  son,  but  had 
never  heard  how  he  died;  or  I  could  say  that  I 
saw  him  die,  and  he  died  like  a  man  doing  his 
duty.  The  only  risk  about  the  second  part  of  it 
was  that  some  one  else  might  be  found  to  tell  the 
truth.  And  all  the  time  that  these  thoughts  were 
flashing  through  my  mind,  there  sat  his  poor 

[221] 


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st6dgy  little  father,  who  had  probably  been  so 
full  of  snobbish  pride  to  have  a  son  an  officer 
at  all,  but  was  now  utterly  and  pitifully  genu- 
ine— perhaps  hoping  against  hope  for  news  of  a 
decent  end,  for  his  face  was  all  anxious  eagerness 
and  his  mouth  trembled  a  little. 

Well,  I  banked  on  the  bigger  lie.  I  was 
cautious  enough  to  ask  first  how  it  was  that  the 
colonel  had  not  written,  but  it  seems  that  he  had, 
but  had  said  very  wisely  that  he  had  been  able 
to  collect  no  information,  and  merely  stated  that 
the  boy  would  be  missed.  This  was  true  enough, 
but  not  quite  in  the  sense  in  which  it  would  be 
taken.  So  then  I  said  that  he  was  close  to  me 
when  he  was  killed  and  he  was  making  a  gallant 
fight  of  it.  And  his  poor  father's  face  lighted 
up,  and  he  thanked  me  again  and  again  and  went 
away  happier  than  he  had  been  for  weeks. 

There,  that's  a  long  letter!  It  will  be  just 
heaven  to  be  at  home  again. — Your  loving 

TERENCE 


[222] 


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CXLVII 

PRIVATE  STEPHEN  PORTER  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

DEAR  MADAM, — It  was  very  kind  of  you  to 
send  me  such  a  nice  parcel.  It  was  the  best 
parcel  that  any  of  us  had  had  by  a  long  way,  and 
we  have  all  been  doing  the  puzzles. 

I  wish,  dear  madam,  you  would  not  call  me 
brave.  I  didn't  do  anything  brave.  There  wasn't 
time,  for  we  were  surrounded  and  captured  before 
we  knew  where  we  were;  but  I  often  lay  awake 
at  night  and  wonder  if  I  should  have  been  properly 
brave  if  I  had  had  the  chance.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  didn't  look  forward  to  a  real  fight  at  all. 

There  are  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  of  us 
here  and  we  are  fed  pretty  well,  but  the  time 
goes  very  slowly.  Still,  when  I  think  of  all  my 
friends  who  were  killed,  I  can't  complain. — God 
bless  you,  dear  Madam,  and  believe  me  yours 
truly  and  respectfully,  STEPHEN  PORTER 

P.S. — I  think,  if  I  might  be  so  bold,  I  should 
like  some  of  those  long  novels.  I  lent  the  poetry 
book  to  one  of  my  mates. 

[223] 


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CXLVIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 

DEAR  SUTHERLAND, — Do  you  remember  my 
sending  you  Walter  Raleigh  on  "Might  and 
Right"  ?  Well,  Raleigh  has  been  at  it  again,  and 
is  now  making  for  the  Times  a  series  of  Broad- 
sheets for  the  soldiers  to  read  at  the  front.  His 
pamphlet  cost  twopence;  but  such  famine  prices 
for  literature  are  now  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the 
Broadsheets  are  six  a  penny,  and  jolly  good 
they  are  too.  Some  people  say  they  are  too 
good;  but  I  don't  agree.  Nor  will  you,  I  think. 
I  am  sending  you  a  selection,  and  hope  and  pray 
they  may  escape  the  torpedo  of  the  Huns  and 
reach  you  safely. 

Look  particularly  at  Julian  Grenfell's  stanzas 
in  the  little  collection  of  new  war  poetry,  which 
is  among  these  that  I  send  you.  To  my  mind 
this  is  the  best  poem  that  the  war  has  yet  pro- 
duced, and  it  is  already  some  months  old,  and 
its  author  was  known  not  as  a  poet  but  as  a  polo- 
player! — Yours,  R.  H. 
[224] 


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THIS   Is   THE   POEM   TO   WHICH   MR.   HAVEN 
REFERS 

INTO  BATTLE 

The  naked  earth  is  warm  with  Spring, 
And  with  green  grass  and  bursting  trees 

Leans  to  the  sun's  gaze  glorying, 
And  quivers  in  the  sunny  breeze; 

And  Life  is  Colour  and  Warmth  and  Light, 
And  a  striving  evermore  for  these ; 

And  he  is  dead  who  will  not  fight; 
And  who  dies  fighting  has  increase. 

The  fighting  man  shall  from  the  sun 

Take  warmth,  and  life  from  the  glowing  earth ; 

Speed  with  the  light-foot  winds  to  run, 
And  with  the  trees  to  newer  birth; 

And  find,  when  fighting  shall  be  done, 
Great  rest,  and  fulness  after  dearth. 

All  the  bright  company  of  Heaven 
Hold  him  in  their  high  comradeship, 

The  Dog-Star  and  the  Sisters  Seven, 
Orion's  Belt  and  sworded  hip. 

The  woodland  trees  that  stand  together, 
They  stand  to  him  each  one  a  friend; 

They  gently  speak  in  the  windy  weather; 
They  guide  to  valley  and  ridge's  end. 

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The  kestrel  hovering  by  day, 

And  the  little  owls  that  call  by  night, 

Bid  him  be  swift  and  keen  as  they, 
As  keen  of  ear,  as  swift  of  sight. 

The  blackbird  sings  to  him,  "Brother,  brother, 
If  this  be  the  last  song  you  shall  sing, 

Sing  well,  for  you  may  not  sing  another; 
Brother,  sing!" 

In  dreary,  doubtful,  waiting  hours, 

Before  the  brazen  frenzy  starts, 
The  horses  show  him  nobler  powers; 

O  patient  eyes,  courageous  hearts! 

And  when  the  burning  moment  breaks, 
And  all  things  else  are  out  of  mind, 

And  only  Joy-of-Battle  takes 

Him  by  the  throat,  and  makes  him  blind, 

Through  joy  and  blindness  he  shall  know, 
Not  caring  much  to  know,  that  still 

Nor  lead  nor  steel  shall  reach  him,  so 
That  it  be  not  the  Destined  Will. 

The  thundering  line  of  battle  stands, 
And  in  the  air  Death  moans  and  sings; 

But  Day  shall  clasp  him  with  strong  hands, 
And  Night  shall  fold  him  in  soft  wings. 

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CXLIX 
MRS.  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — What  dreadful  news  about  the 
Lusitania!  Things  seem  to  get  worse  and  worse, 
and  the  world  to  grow  more  wicked.  I  used 
always  to  think  of  the  Germans  as  such  a  mild, 
gentle  people  with  large  spectacles,  who  combed 
their  hair  as  they  left  the  table.  Who  would  ever 
have  thought  of  them  doing  these  dreadful  things? 
And  then  there  was  the  dear  Prince  Consort,  whom 
and  quite  rightly  we  always  called  "Albert  the 
Good."  What  can  we  have  done  for  all  this  to 
be  happening*?  I  wish  I  knew  if  we  are  being 
punished  for  doing  wrong,  or  if  it  is  just  German 
wickedness.  But  anyway,  as  I  tell  Anne,  it  is 
quite  time  to  die;  and  yet  I  should  like  to  live 
long  enough  to  see  Peace  declared  and  every 
one  turn  over  a  new  leaf. — Your  loving 

MOTHER 


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CL 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — And  now  they  have  sunk  the 
Lusitania.  What  terrible  power  war  puts  into 
the  hands  of  one  man!  And  this  is  1915  Anno 
Domini,  as  we  say. 

Which  is  it,  Heine  or  Voltaire? — I  don't  re- 
member, but  it  sounds  like  one  of  them — who 
imagined  God,  after  the  Creation,  rattling  the 
stars  and  planets  in  His  pockets,  as  a  schoolboy  his 
marbles.  One  of  the  pockets  had  a  hole  in  it, 
and,  before  God  knew,  a  planet  slipped  out  and 
was  lost.  It  was  ours. 

Christianity  having  failed  so  dismally  (or 
would  half  the  world  be  at  each  other's  throats 
like  this*?)  is  it  not  time  to  try  something  else"? 
Some  religion  of  humanity — since  religion  is  nec- 
essary— that  shall  put  the  human  family  first  and 
have  as  its  chief  ideal  the  improvement  of  the 
world  we  have  to  live  in  and  get  our  daily  bread 
in4? 

These  are  great  questions. — Yours,      R.  H. 

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CLI 

MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

POOR  Archibald  is  in  despair  at  a  letter  which 
he  has  received  from  Mr.  Haven,  who,  we  made 
sure,  would  help  him.  Mr.  Haven  actually  has 
so  little  imagination  as  to  suggest  that  the  boy 
should  become  a  clerk.  How  could  Archibald  do 
that4?  It  is  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  an  artist 
so  full  of  delicate  sensibility  and  creative  fancy  as 
he  is  could  become  a  clerk.  A  private  secretary 
possibly,  but  not  a  clerk.  One  must  be  sensible 
in  these  matters.  For  the  moment  we  are  at  a 
standstill  in  the  matter,  and  Archibald  has  gone 
for  the  week-end  to  his  friends  the  Steinheimers, 
who,  in  spite  of  their  unfortunate  name  and  birth, 
are  absolutely  pro-English  and  have  the  most 
beautiful  place  on  Sydenham  Hill  overlooking 
London. — Yours,  MAUDE 


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CLII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — A  good  story  has  lately 
found  its  way  into  the  papers.  A  soldier  was 
carpeted  somewhere  back  of  the  front  for  wilfully 
damaging  the  property  of  the  French  Government. 
It  seems  that  the  notices  in  the  railway  carriage 
against  leaning  out  of  the  window  had  caught  his 
eye  and  he  had  carefully  eliminated  the  German 
one,  "Nicht  hinauslehnen" !  Asked  to  explain 
his  conduct,  he  said  that  he  had  acted  from 
motives  of  the  purest  patriotism.  'Patriotism'?' 
exclaimed  the  President  of  the  Court.  "Certainly, 
sir,"  replied  the  soldier;  "I  thought  that  if  a 
German  wanted  to  lean  out  of  the  window  and 
have  his  blooming  napper  knocked  off,  it  would 
be  a  pity  to  stop  him."  Result,  a  triumphant 
acquittal. 

We  went  to  a  theatre  last  night.     It  is  really 

wonderful  how  the  stage  keeps  up  its  spirits  and 

detachment.      But   mummers   truly   are   a   race 

apart.     I  always  hold  that,  so  long  as  they  are 

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thorough — that  is  to  say,  so  long  as  the  theatre 
is  their  life  and  not  merely  an  incident  in  it — 
actors  are  the  happiest  of  creatures.  But  the  actor 
who  is  also  a  citizen  can  be  a  profoundly  melan- 
choly fellow.  If  conscription  comes  in,  as  it 
probably  will,  we  shall  see  the  end  of  these 
capering  male  choruses,  which  to  me  have  always 
been  a  blot  on  the  stage.  Not  that  young  men 
are  au  fond  any  more  sensible  than  young  women, 
but  there  is  something  else  for  young  men  to  do 
than  sing  and  dance  and  paint  their  faces;  and 
when  a  war  is  on  and  soldiers  are  needed  the 
spectacle  is  ghastly.  Personally  I  shall  go  to  no 
more  plays  where  male  choruses  are  engaged.  I 
wish  I  had  lodged  a  protest  from  my  seat  and  left 
last  night,  but  I  had  not  the  pluck.  Probably 
many  of  the  audience  thought  as  I  do,  but  they 
too  had  not  the  pluck.  Without  courage  nothing 
can  ever  be  done. 

Besides,  for  far  too  long  now  the  stage  and  its 
lions  and  lionesses  have  been  sacred.  Actors  and 
actresses  have  become  the  salt  of  the  earth,  so  far 
as  London  is  concerned,  and  they  can  do  no  wrong, 


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and  anyone  suggesting  that  they  can  would  be 
thrown  out  of  the  theatre.  This  domination  of 
the  sock  and  buskin  has  come  about  stealthily 
but  very  surely.  If  you  doubt  it,  try  to  imagine 
what  certain  illustrated  papers,  daily  as  well  as 
weekly,  which  do  not  pretend  to  any  particular 
theatrical  interest,  would  be  like  were  London's 
houses  of  entertainment  all  closed. 

What  a  chance  there  has  been  for  some  big  firm 
to  let  its  patriotism  take  the  form  of  announcing 
that  no  increase  would  be  made  in  the  price  of 
anything  during  the  war — as,  I  believe,  Felix 
Potin  in  Paris  did  in  1870.  Nor  would  its  virtue 
be  its  own  reward.  As  an  advertisement  alone — 
putting  the  action  on  purely  commercial  grounds 
— the  cost  would  probably  be  less  (and  the  re- 
sults greater)  than  a  leading  article  in  the  eve- 
ning papers  every  night  of  the  year. — Yours, 

R. 


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CLIII 

Miss  ELLEN  FRISBY  TO  PRIVATE  ARTHUR  COLE- 
MAN 

DEAR  MR.  COLEMAN, — Your  letter  has  just 
arrived  and  I  hasten  to  answer  it,  although  I  can- 
not help  feeling  that  you  want  to  know  rather 
much. 

But  when  one  is  a  prisoner  I  can  believe  that 
inquisitiveness  comes  natural  and  one  must  not  be 
hard  on  you  for  it. 

What  I  should  do  if  I  were  in  prison  I  cannot 
imagine. 

I  am  five  feet  six  and  a  half  inches  in  height. 
My  hair  is  auburn,  my  eyes  are  blue.  I  am 
twenty-six  next  March.  If  I  am  to  get  this  off 
to-night  I  must  now  close. — Your  sincere  well- 
wisher,  ELLEN  FRISBY 

CLIV 

TOBY  STARR  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  MOTHER, — I  wish  you  would  send  me 
a  decent  French  phrase-book. 

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J  find  that  my  French  is  no  good  at  all,  and 
the  phrase-book  I  have  does  not  have  the  right 
kind  of  things  in  it.  Some  one  should  compile 
a  suitable  one.  These  are  the  kind  of  things  you 
want  to  say: 

Can  I  get  an  egg  for  love  or  money? 

Is  there  any  chance  of  a  lift  to *? 

I  don't  care  where  I  sleep  so  long  as  the  place 
isn't  damp.  Can  you  swear  it's  not  damp1? 
But  the  books  give  no  help.  They  have  no  em- 
phasis in  them. 

My  long  suit  is  the  opening  phrase,  Ess  keely 
ar.  I  always  begin  that  way.  After  this  war 
we  shall  be  so  satisfied  that  we  are  going  to  have 
peace  evermore,  and  particularly  with  France, 
that  probably  no  more  pains  than  now  will  be 
taken  to  teach  or  learn  French  properly;  but  of 
course  the  neglect  of  modern  languages  is  a  sin. 
We  had  French  lessons  often  enough,  but  what 
mortal  use  is  one  of  them  to  me  when  the  whole 
business  of  French  is  not  being  able  to  speak  it 
but  hear  it.  I  can  ask  most  questions,  but  unless 
the  answer  is  written  I  haven't  a  notion  what  it 
means;  and  lots  of  the  people  can't  write.  This 

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reminds  me,  anyway,  that  I 'wish  you'd  send  me 
some  tiny  pads  and  pencils,  so  that  when  they  can 
write,  I  can  get  them  to  stick  it  down.  Another 
of  my  trump  cards  is  Parlay  ploo  lontmong,  but 
they  won't  do  it — at  least  for  not  more  than  a 
few  seconds. 

I  always  used  to  hear  that  sailors  can  go  any- 
where and  get  anything  they  want  on  the  word 
Savvy.  They  must  be  cleverer  than  soldiers,  or 
want  less. 

So  far  I  have  kept  very  fit. — Best  love. 

TOBY 


CLV 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

DEAR  B., — It  is  funny  to  see  how  economy  has 
already  taken  different  people.  The  richest  man  I 
know  has  given  up  Havana  cigars,  and  smokes — 
at  his  own  cost,  that  is — only  arid  things  at  three- 
pence each  with  comic  names.  Beyond  that  he  has 
not,  that  I  am  aware  of,  made  any  change.  He 
still,  for  example,  travels  first  class;  which  I  have 

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alrtiost  never  done,  in  England,  in  my  life.  An- 
other man  that  I  know  has  given  up  meat  for 
lunch;  but  I  could  not  get  through  the  afternoon 
if  I  did  that.  Another  has  given  up  Turkish 
Baths.  Another  has  retired  from  one  of  his  clubs; 
another  is  beginning  to  go  regularly  to  his  club 
for  the  first  time,  in  order  to  see  all  the  sixpenny 
weeklies,  which  until  latterly  he  bought.  One 
lady  that  I  know  has  relinquished  her  early  morn- 
ing tea;  another  buys  no  more  flowers  for  the 
house.  Several  of  my  friends  spend  their  evenings 
at  home  instead  of  going  to  restaurants  or  the 
play,  or  to  both. 

But  not  all  will  stick  to  these  changes,  and 
most  of  us,  I  fancy,  will  indulge  in  occasional 
orgies  whenever  we  feel  ourselves  entitled  to  them 
by  our  intervening  Spartanism.  Thus  will  life 
become  much  more  amusing,  for  what  was  once 
so  regular  as  to  have  become  insipid  will  by  its 
rarity  now  take  on  importance  and  a  new  flavour. 

Economy  is  all  very  well;  but  it  will  have  its 
defects  too.  It  already  has.  The  no-treating 
order  was  a  godsend  to  the  naturally  miserly  and 
grudging;  and  many  people  are  about  so  to  lose 

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the  habit  of  putting  their  hands  in  their  pockets 
that  when  things  are  better  they  will  not  renew  it. 
That,  of  course,  is  a  danger;  and  the  treasurers  of 
hospitals  and  other  public  charities  are  probably 
only  too  well  aware  of  it.  And  I  can  see  also 
signs  of  a  new  snobbishness,  which  makes  a  cult  of 
cheese-paring,  taking  the  place  of  the  old  one 
which  flaunted  wastefulness  or  want  of  care. 
There  must  be  spots  on  the  sun.  But  even  with 
such  drawbacks  we  shall  have  gained  as  a  nation 
by  having  the  real  worth  of  money — twelve  pen- 
nies to  the  shilling,  twenty  shillings  to  the  pound 
— brought  home  to  us.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
at  the  present  moment  there  cannot  be  more  than 
nine  pennies  to  the  bob,  or  fifteen  bob  to  the 
pound,  everything  has  risen  so. 

To  economists-against-the-grain  who  find  the 
new  conditions  almost  too  distasteful  I  have  two 
pieces  of  comfort.  The  first  is  an  experience  of 
my  own  the  other  day,  when  I  gazed  upon  the 
drawn  and  haggard  features  of  a  millionaire,  who 
is  not  only  of  world-wide  fame  but  whose  name  is 
to  some  extent  synonymous  with  geniality,  and 
incidentally  hit  upon  as  good  a  case  of  the  un- 

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expected  word  as  I  can  remember.  The  great 
man  was  seated  forlornly  and  alone  in  a  corner  of 
a  first-class  compartment  waiting  for  his  little 
branch-line  train  to  start,  and  I  was  moved  to 
mention  his  sickly  and  melancholy  appearance  to 
the  guard,  as  an  illustration,  if  not  a  proof,  that 
vast  riches  do  not  necessarily  imply  vast  happi- 
ness. The  guard  agreed,  and  then  added  re- 
flectively: "It's  a  pity  he's  not  more  roguish." 
Never  did  an  epithet  give  me  more  surprise,  and 
to  make  sure,  for  I  half  expected  "robust"  was 
intended,  I  lured  the  guard  to  repeat  it.  But 
there  was  no  doubt;  roguish  was  the  word;  the 
guard  thought  it  a  pity  that  the  great  man  was 
not  more  roguish.  Roguish  he  certainly  was  not, 
and  if  such  dejection  comes  from  great  possessions 
then  let  us  not  hesitate  to  unload  ours. 

For  the  other  piece  of  consolation,  let  me,  as  a 
comforter,  quote  the  words  of  a  philosopher  in 
that  most  amusing,  but  very  little-known,  book, 
The  Wallet  of  Kai  Lung,  of  which,  as  you  know, 
I  am  a  champion.  "The  road  to  success,"  says  he, 
"lies  through  the  cheap  and  exceedingly  unin- 
viting eating-houses."  That  is  our  route.  The 

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Kaiser  points  the  way.     But  success,  remember, 
is  to  be  the  goal. — Yours,  R.  H. 

CLVI 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  SIR  VINCENT  STARR 

DEAR  VINCENT, — Any  authentic  news  that 
you  can  let  me  have  from  time  to  time  would  be 
welcome.  Meanwhile  I  think  you  ought  to  know 
that  a  man  I  know  who  has  been  talking  with  an 
intimate  friend  of  his,  an  American,  just  returned 
from  Germany,  where  he  went  on  business,  says 
that  we  are  being  completely  hoodwinked,  as 
usual,  as  regards  the  position  of  affairs  there.  So 
far  from  being  short  of  food,  they  have  supplies 
of  everything  for  at  least  three  years,  and 
enormous  reserves  of  gold  stored  away  in  various 
fortresses  which  have  not  yet  been  tapped  at  all. 
They  are  building  submarines  at  the  rate  of  three 
a  week;  flying  machines  at  the  rate  of  thirty  a 
week;  and  Zeppelins  at  the  rate  of  two  a  month. 
Their  supply  of  ammunition  has  hardly  been  ap- 
preciably touched,  and  the  young  men  in  training 

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who  will  be  ready  in  a  short  time  can  be  counted 
literally  by  the  million.  He  says  that  the  Am- 
sterdam Telegraaf  is  really  in  the  German  pay, 
and  is  putting  out  its  reports  as  to  German  de- 
pression merely  to  weaken  our  attack  and  make 
us  careless.  He  also  hinted  that  even  Raemakers, 
the  cartoonist,  who  has  been  feted  in  London  and 
Paris  as  a  pro-Ally,  is  really  a  German  agent,  and 
in  every  one  of  his  pictures,  if  one  knew  where 
to  look  for  it,  is  a  cipher  message  to  dangerous 
sympathisers  in  England  and  France.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  disquieting  it  is  to  hear  these  things. 
You  will  understand,  then,  how  much  I  should 
value  anything  that  you  can  tell  me  touching  on 
the  efficiency  and  esprit  de  corps,  if  they  exist,  of 
our  army  in  France.  Here  one  hears  sad  stories 
about  it. 

Sometimes  I  think  I  will  give  up  London  alto- 
gether; but  that  of  course  would  be  cowardly. 
One  must  not  fly  from  the  truth. 

Wishing  you  all  good  luck. — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 


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CLVII 

JERRY  HARDING  TO  NANCY  BERNAL 

[Telegram] 

GROSSING  Monday  night.     Five  days'   leave. 

HARDING 

CLVIII 
MRS.  BERNAL  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

DEAR  MOTHER, — It  looks  as  if  Digby  and  I 
are  to  be  entirely  alone.  Nancy  now  is  insisting 
on  marrying  that  young  Harding;  I  had  no  idea 
that  anything  was  going  on,  so  blind  can  parents 
be;  but  it  seems  that  they  were  engaged  actually 
before  Dick  and  Olive!  And  she  has  won  over 
her  father  to  sanction  a  sudden  wedding  by 
licence.  Mothers  are  no  longer  considered  at 
all.  It's  most  extraordinary — all  of  a  sudden  the 
world  seems  to  have  been  made  for  second  lieu- 
tenants! There  is  nothing  I  haven't  done  for  the 
child,  and  her  father  has  spoiled  her  all  her  life, 

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but  everything  is  forgotten  directly  she  wants  to 
marry.  They  are  neither  of  them  twenty-one  yet, 
but  because  it's  war-time  they  must  be  allowed  to 
rush  into  marriage! 

Digby  says  we  must  not  stand  in  the  young 
people's  way,  but  personally  I  don't  see  why  the 
Kaiser  should  be  allowed  to  upset  all  the  common 
prudences  of  life.  I  need  hardly  say  that  Richard 
has  been  conspiring  against  me  too. 

Luckily  I  am  up  to  my  eyes  in  a  new  scheme 
for  a  hospital  for  worn-out  nurses,  and  day  and 
night  am  slaving  to  get  my  share  of  the  necessary 
money  for  it.  Do  send  me  a  trifle,  no  matter  how 
small,  and  get  Anne  to  collect  something  too.  I 
enclose  a  card  for  her. — Your  loving 

MARGARET 


CLIX 

[FROM  THE  MARRIAGE  COLUMN] 

HARDING — BERNAL. — On  the  2ist,  by  special 
licence,  Algernon  Rivers  Harding,  only  son  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  L.  Harding  of  Eastly  Place, 
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Winchester,  to  Anne,  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Digby  Bernal  of  Campden  Hill. 

CLX 

DIGBY  BERNAL  TO  DICK  BERNAL 

MY  DEAR  BOY, — The  registration — for  it 
wasn't  a  wedding — went  off  all  right,  and  Hard- 
ing is  now  back  at  work  again. 

I  am  glad  all  goes  well  with  you  so  far. 
Things  here  are  not  superficially  bright,  but  I 
have  perfect  confidence  that  underneath  we  are 
progressing.  Your  poor  father-in-law  is  still 
grousing.  If  all  that  he  hears  and  repeats  were 
true,  the  country  would  be  morally  and  physically 
bankrupt,  beaten  and  disgraced.  And  yet  things 
seem  to  go  on  much  as  before,  except  that  many 
people  are  braver  and  more  serious,  and  there- 
fore better.  But  men  like  Uncle  George  never 
examine  things  for  themselves;  they  merely 
listen  and  believe,  and  elaborate  and  grizzle. 

Your  Olive  came  to  see  us  yesterday.  She 
looks  very  well,  considering,  and  is  throwing 

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toerself  into  various  quiet  stay-at-home  war  tasks 
that  keep  her  mind  occupied.  I  am,  and  have 
always  been,  very  fond  of  her,  but  your  most 
serious  rival  will  of  course  always  be  your  Uncle 
Richard!  It  makes  me  feel  very  old  to  be  so 
near  a  grandfather's  estate.  I  wish  you  could  get 
away  for  a  week  or  so  to  be  with  her. — Good  luck, 
old  son,  D.  B. 

CLXI 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GREY, — Another  of  my  cousins 
has  been  married  now,  a  mere  girl  named  Nancy 
Bernal.  She  has  married  my  pal  Jerry  Harding, 
the  one  who  went  in  with  me  over  that  rotten 
advertisement,  which,  however,  had  such  glorious 
results.  I  often  wonder  what  kind  of  answers  he 
got,  but  I  have  never  asked  him.  Jerry  and 
Nancy  have  been  engaged  on  the  quiet  for  a  long 
time.  I  wonder  what  you  think  of  secret  engage- 
ments. I  expect  they're  rather  fun  for  the 
engaged  parties,  but  there  must  be  something  nice 
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too  in  having  all  the  world  know  that  this  girl  is 
yours.  Jerry  didn't  want  to  marry  till  the  war 
was  over  for  fear  he'd  be  hit  or  even  killed  out- 
right. He  thought  that  that  wouldn't  be  fair  to 
Nancy;  but  she  wasn't  taking  any  of  that,  and 
married  him  by  special  licence  out  of  hand,  and 
their  honeymoon  is  something  under  a  week. 
Some  hustle,  isn't  it1? 

The  Boches  are  keeping  us  pretty  busy,  but 
I  have  got  over  paying  much  attention  to  them. 
One  learns  to  distinguish  between  the  shells  that 
are  coming  your  way  and  those  meant  for  others. 
I  don't  mean  that  we  get  careless  exactly,  but 
since  it  is  all  such  an  absolute  toss  up  we  don't 
let  it  weigh  on  our  minds. 

I  saw  a  ripping  fight  in  the  air  yesterday  in 
which  our  man  at  last  brought  the  Hun  down. 
He  had  a  bullet  through  his  arm  and  threw  up 
the  sponge.  The  odd  thing  is,  that  I  had  met 
him  before.  He  came  to  Oxford  to  play  footer 
two  winters  ago.  I  should  say  he's  as  decent  a 
chap  as  a  Hun  can  be. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  I  had  the  melancholy 
experience  of  seeing  our  cook's  errand  man  blown 

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to  pieces.  It's  a  kind  of  understood  thing  that 
during  the  dinner  hour  the  gunners  on  both  sides 
cry  off.  We  keep  this  bargain  absolutely;  but 
the  Boches  usually  send  three  shells  over  just  to 
remind  us  that  they're  not  gentlemen.  Well, 
there's  about  forty  yards  of  open  between  the 
kitchen  and  our  table,  and  the  poor  devil  was 
bringing  the  soup  when  one  of  these  shells  came 
along.  If  he'd  just  lain  down  for  a  bit  and 
waited  he'd  have  been  all  right,  but  he  had  a 
panic  and  started  to  run,  and  ran  bang  into  shell 
number  two,  which  absolutely  scattered  him.  As 
it  is  a  rule  for  every  one  to  have  a  Christian  burial 
they  had  to  collect  as  much  of  him  as  they  could 
for  the  purpose. 

If  you  think  that  this  caused  us  to  go  without 
our  dinner  you  have  a  very  wrong  notion  of  the 
British  soldier.  We  are  so  surprised  to  be  still 
alive,  any  of  us,  that  we  don't  let  things  like  this 
spoil  our  appetite. 

Nice  reading  for  your  quiet  Ashford  garden,  I 
don't  think;  but  you  asked  me  to  tell  you  even 
the  dreadful  things,  and  I  am  obeying,  as  a  soldier 
must. — Yours  sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

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CLXII 
DR.  SUTHERLAND  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  HAVEN, — The  situation  here  is 
really  comic  rather  than  serious.  Because  it  has 
revealed  the  fact,  which  every  one  wanted  to  keep 
secret,  that  there  is  no  American  nation.  Yet. 
There  will  be,  no  doubt.  America  is  something 
of  all;  whereas  a  nation  is  all  of  something. 
The  finer,  more  chivalrous  spirits  want  to  fight — 
or  at  any  rate  want  to  establish  their  belief  in 
honesty  and  decency  and  personal  honour  in 
some  emphatic  way.  The  chief  organ  of  these 
proud,  scornful  knights  is  Life,  which  perhaps 
you  don't  see.  Since  the  war  it  has  been 
admirable,  and  since  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania 
its  satire  has  literally  scalded.  The  Allies  and 
the  cause  of  liberty  and  justice  and  humanity 
never  had  a  better  champion.  Of  course  any 
satirical  paper  that  is  against  Germany  has  a 
great  chance  now,  because  there  is  such  a  wonder- 
ful target  in  the  Kaiser,  who,  inversely,  may 
almost  be  said  to  edit  it.  At  any  rate  he 

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supplies  an  inexhaustible  motif;  which  all  such 
papers  are  the  better  for. 

After  the  somewhat  impetuous  champions  of 
the  higher  policy,  on  whose  side  is  Roosevelt,  by 
the  way  (although  Roosevelt  does  not  stand  for 
what  he  did,  and  there  is  always  the  possibility 
that  his  Pro-Ally  fervour  and  pugnacity  might 
be  at  bottom  Anti-Wilsonism),  there  are  the 
statesmen  who  see  very  clearly  the  difficulties  in 
the  way,  one  being  the  internal  embroilment  that 
would  instantly  break  forth,  and  another  the  fact 
that  there  is  no  battleground  for  either  her  army 
or  navy  if  America  did  declare  war.  Where 
could  she  send  her  troops'?  And  what  is  there 
for  her  ships  to  tackle?  Furthermore,  the  Allies 
want  Uncle  Sam's  assistance  as  a  munition 
worker  to  go  on  and  on,  and  they  would  then 
lose  it.  Without  our  war  work  at  Bethlehem 
where  would  you  all  be4? 

Apropos  of  American  industry  for  the  war,  a 
letter  from  a  friend  in  France  the  other  day  told 
me  that  thousands  of  the  camions  employed  in 
conveying  both  French  soldiers  and  shells  to  the 
front  are  made  here,  largely  by  White;  while  in 

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one  place  he  found  a  cohort  of  American  motor- 
lorries  with  the  name  of  Kmpp  on  every  one, 
these  having  been  made  by  us  for  Germany,  but, 
delivery  being  impossible,  re-sold  to  France! 

It  seems  to  me  that,  apart  from  such  industry, 
there  is  nothing  for  Americans  to  do  but  to  wait 
and  see — in  the  excellent  words  of  your  Premier. 
— Yours,  T.  S. 

CLXIII 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — The  work  at  this 
hospital  is  very  interesting,  but  I  wish  there  were 
more  English  soldiers  here.  There  are  only  a 
few,  and  none  in  my  ward,  where  every  one  is 
French.  I  find  that  I  can  understand  nearly  all 
they  say  and  I  make  myself  understood;  but  it 
is  very  pleasant  now  and  then  to  steal  away  to 
the  ward  where  the  English  boys  are,  and  talk 
properly. 

One  of  them — his  name  is  James  Buncombe — 
comes  from  your  part  of  the  country  and  knows 

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you  by  sight.  He  was  in  the  racing  stable.  He 
has  been  shot  through  the  lungs  and  speaks  with 
great  difficulty.  Two  others  have  lost  eyes.  The 
fourth  had  all  his  fingers  on  one  hand  cut  off  by  a 
German  officer — slashed  with  a  sword.  What  is 
to  become  of  them  when  they  are  discharged"? 
That  is  what  I  am  always  wondering. 

There  is  also  an  English  officer  in  a  room  to 
himself,  rather  sidey.  Every  one  is  laughing  over 
the  blunder  he  made  yesterday,  for  he  rather 
fancies  his  French.  He  called  out  to  the  orderly 
who  was  passing,  "Envoy ez  moi  la  nourrice,  s'il 
vous  plait;  j'ai  faim." 

I  thought  I  would  be  very  clever  yesterday, 
and  I  went  into  Paris  and  bought  a  little  pile  of 
detective  stones  for  my  ward.  Wouldn't  you  have 
said  that  all  men  would  like  detective  stories'? 
But  it  was  a  failure.  It  seems  that  there  is  only 
one  kind  of  story  that  they  like,  and  that  is  about 
the  Wild  West.  There  is  a  series  now  running  in 
France  which  you  buy  for  a  few  centimes,  with  a 
wonderful  hero  named  Nick  Carter,  and  this  is 
what  the  French  soldiers  want.  Arsene  Lupin 
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isn't  in  it  with  Nick  Carter.  And  the  most 
welcome  present  you  can  give  them  is  sweets. 

They're  really  just  children  all  the  time — 
children  with  appalling  vocabularies. 

I  will  write  again  soon. — Your  loving  infirm- 
iere,  Vi. 

CLXIV 

NANCY  HARDING  TO  HER  HUSBAND 

MY  DARLING  JERRY, — I  think  about  you  day 
and  night.  Do  take  care  of  yourself  and  do  not 
run  unnecessary  risks.  I  know  how  brave  and 
impulsive  you  are.  It  was  all  very  well  before, 
but  now  you  have  some  one  else  to  live  for. 

It  is  very  odd  being  married  and  not  having 
any  husband  or  any  home.  But  we  shall  have 
tremendous  fun  getting  the  furniture  and  things 
after  the  war,  won't  we1?  I  am  busy  making  lists 
of  what  we  shall  want.  Mother,  who  has  quite 
come  round,  is  helping  me. 

I  look  in  all  the  furniture  shops  and  get  all 
their  lists.  There  are  some  firms  which  do  it  all 


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for  you  for  so  much,  but  that  is  very  dull,  I  think. 
Bimbo  was  very  funny  about  the  anti-aircraft 
guns  in  the  Park  the  other  day.  "Aren't  they 
afraid  they'll  hit  God?"  he  asked.  What 
heavenly  things  small  children  can  be! — Your 
ever  loving  NAN. 

CLXV 

MRS.  PARK-STAN MER  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — I  had  such  an  adventure 
yesterday.  One  of  my  lonely  subs  of  a  year  ago 
came  to  call  on  me.  He  is  stationed  at  Shorn- 
cliffe  and  he  walked  over.  Such  a  dear  boy.  He 
says  that  my  letters  were  the  greatest  comfort  to 
him.  I  always  try  to  picture  them  as  I  write  to 
them,  but  I  got  this  one  absolutely  wrong.  He 
is  really  very  tall  and  thin,  with  a  big  nose  and 
yellowish  hair,  and  I  had  thought  of  him  as  thick- 
set and  dark;  but  most  awfully  attractive,  and 
ready,  like  all  my  boys,  to  be  up  in  arms  over  me. 
I  told  him  I  was  called  the  Mother  of  the  Mess> 
and  he  was  furious.  "Mother,  indeed!"  he  said. 
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"Sister  of  the  Mess,  perhaps,  but  not  mother." 
It  was  such  fun  watching  him.  I  expect  I  shall 
see  a  lot  of  him — unless,  of  course,  he  is  twitched 
over  to  France,  which  is  always  a  possibility, 
worse  luck!  for  every  one  except  Horace.  He, 
I  always  tell  him,  will  be  the  last  man  left  in 
England. — Yours,  AMABEL 

CLXVI 

LADY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  had  a  great  thrill  yester- 
day. I  had  been  for  a  few  days'  visit  to  the 
Harringtons  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  was  coming 
back  in  the  steamer  when  we  came  upon  a 
gigantic  vessel  moored  in  the  middle  of  the 
Solent,  with  its  head  towards  the  East,  waiting  for 
an  escort  or  something.  And  what  do  you  think 
it  was?  The  Mauretania,  all  painted  slate  col- 
our, and  on  every  inch  of  its  decks  were  men  in 
khaki  with  sun  helmets,  on  their  way  to  the 
Dardanelles.  You  know  that  annoying  tearful 
feeling  you  get  when  a  monarch  goes  by  in  state. 

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Well,  I  had  it  yesterday,  only  it  did  not  annoy 
me  in  the  least.  I  just  had  to  cry.  There  they 
were,  these  myriad  men,  all  waving  good-bye, 
and  every  one  on  our  little  boat  was  waving  back, 
and  one  knew  that  it  was  good-bye  for  ever  for 
so  many  of  them.  No  more  England,  no  more 
home,  nothing  but  a  bullet  and  a  foreign  grave. 
Men  marching  to  the  station  do  not  seem  half  so 
doomed  as  men  on  a  troopship. 

I  am  glad  I  did  not  have  to  say  good-bye  to 
Toby  in  this  way.  I  never  could  have  stood  it. 
— Yours,  H. 

CLXVII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

DEAR  B.,- — It  is  a  commonplace  to  say  that 
England  can  never  be  the  same;  but  it  has  not 
been  easy  hitherto  to  put  one's  finger  here  and 
there  and  show  where  the  difference  will  be. 
Now,  however,  when  girls  are  taking  almost  every 
male  situation,  and  have  become  nurses  by  the 
thousand,  one  can  see  clearly  enough  that  almost 

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the  principal  difference  will  be  an  England  of 
enfranchised  woman.  I  don't  mean  enfranchised 
in  the  political  sense  merely,  but  in  the  larger 
sense.  An  independence  will  have  come  to  her 
that  she  has  wofully  lacked, — ranging  her  on  the 
administrative  side  with  French  women,  and  self- 
reliantly  with  the  American, — and  the  Turks 
among  us  won't  like  it,  but  will  have  to  put  up 
with  it.  Already  their  strongholds,  the  clubs, 
have  fallen,  for  waitresses  are  now  to  be  found  in 
most  of  them;  and  now  for  the  first  time  having 
spies  there,  the  Turks'  wives  are  probably  learning 
what  exceedingly  dull  dormitories  those  places 
are. 

Some  folks'  incorrigible  disregard  of  the  situa- 
tion is  appalling.  When  one  sees  how  little  dif- 
ference there  is  in  their  mode  of  life  among  play- 
goers and  diners  out  and,  above  all,  racegoers, 
one  has  to  admit  sadly  that  there  are  in  this  odd 
little  England  of  ours  people  who  didn't  deserve 
to  have  the  war  at  all. 

I  find  Burke  remarking  in  conversation: 
"France  has  all  things  within  herself;  and  she 
possesses  the  power  of  recovering  from  the  sever- 

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est  blows."    Dear  France,  I  hope  it  is  still  true. — 
Yours,  R. 


CLXVIII 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — The  interesting  event 
came  off  this  morning  and  I  am  the  grandfather 
of  a  fine  boy.  Olive  is  doing  well.  But  what  I 
really  want  to  tell  you  is  that  there  are  dark  and, 
I  fear,  only  too  well-founded  whispers  of  the  ap- 
palling vulnerability  of  our  coast  defences  should 
the  Huns  attempt  an  invasion.  Everything  is 
chaos  since  the  coast-guards  were  disbanded — by 
the  folly  of  some  sapient  Jack-in-office  drawing 
his  £5000  a  year  to  betray  his  country.  The 
thought  of  it  all  is  maddening,  and  what  life  is 
going  to  be  like  when  the  war  is  (if  ever)  over  I 
dare  not  think.  Averse  as  I  am  constitutionally 
and  resolutely  from  losing  hope,  I  am  beginning 
to  believe  that  there  is  some  truth  in  the  old  say- 
ing, "Call  no  man  happy  till  he  is  dead." — Yours 
cordially,  GEORGE  WISTON 

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P.S. — We  go  from  bad  to  worse.  I  have  it  on 
the  best  authority,  but  naturally  am  not  at  liberty 
to  give  any  name,  that  we  have  lost  two  dread- 
noughts and  three  destroyers  in  the  past  week, 
but  the  Government  dare  not  make  it  public.  I 
am  making  one  more  grave  appeal  to  the  Govern- 
ment to  be  brave  and  tell  the  truth.  Look  for  it 
in  to-morrow's  papers  over  the  signature  "Magna 
est  Veritas." 

CLXIX 
[FROM  A  DAILY  PAPER] 

BIRTHS 

BERNAL. — On  the  6th  inst.,  at  108  Lancaster 
Gate,  the  wife  of  Lieutenant  Richard  Bernal  of  a 
son. 

CLXX 

^ANCY  HARDING  TO  HER  HUSBAND 

MY  DARLING  JERRY, — I  was  so  glad  to  have 
your  letter  and  to  find  that  you  are  still  all  right. 

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Do  get  some  leave  soon.  London  always  seems 
full  of  officers  on  leave,  so  I  can't  think  why  you 
don't  have  it  too.  When  I  was  passing  by  Cox's 
yesterday  afternoon  I  saw  three  or  four  of  them 
all  over  French  mud,  who  had  come  straight  from 
their  train  at  Charing  Cross  to  rush  in  for  some 
money;  and  any  one  of  them  might  just  as  well 
have  been  you. 

I  keep  as  busy  as  I  can,  and  on  Wednesday  I 
nearly  dropped  through  selling  programmes  at  a 
Red  Cross  matinee^  but  I  find  myself  wanting  you 
all  the  time.  And  it  is  tiresome  to  have  the 
servants  continuing  to  call  me  Miss. 

Do  you  know  I  can't  help  almost  wishing  that 
you  would  get  some  tiny  little  wound,  only  just 
the  teeniest  weeniest,  of  course — so  that  you  could 
be  invalided  home  and  then  stay  here. 

Olive's  baby  is  a  pet. — Your  very  lonely  wife, 

NAN. 


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CLXXI 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — Having  found  nor  heard 
no  new  war  story  for  you,  I  am  tempted  to  try 
and  tell  you  one  myself.  True  too. 

I  went  on  Saturday  to  Eastbourne  to  spend 
the  day  with  the  Tristrams — you  know  who  I 
mean — Captain  Tristram  of  Welwyn  who  was 
at  school  with  me — poor  old  Tristram  having  had 
an  accident  and  convalescing  there,  and  this  is 
what  happened,  word  for  word. 

I  went  straight  from  the  station  to  the 
promenade,  feeling  certain  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Captain  would  be  there.  But  they  weren't.  So 
then  I  found  the  house  and  there  was  the  Captain, 
on  his  crutches,  plodding  round  and  round  the 
tiny  back  garden. 

"And  that's  all  he'll  do,"  little  Mrs.  Captain 
complained.  "Here  we  are  in  an  expensive  house, 
at  an  expensive  watering-place,  for  no  other  pur- 
pose than  that  he  may  get  the  sea  air  and  be 


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amused  by  the  people,  and  he  won't  leave  this 
poky  back  garden." 

"But,  my  dear  old  idiot,"  said  the  Captain, 
"you  know  the  reason  why  well  enough.  You 
know  I  can't  go  out." 

"I    know   you're    a   ridiculous   super-sensitive 
egotistical  person,"  she  retorted,  "and  you  ought 
to  live  on  a  planet  of  your  own." 
.  "Do  tell  me,"  I  said. 

"Well "   she  began. 

"No,"  said  the  Captain,  "let  me.  She'll  put 
me  in  a  false  light,  this  hateful  woman." 

After  a  brief  skirmish  little  Mrs.  Captain  gave 
way. 

"To  begin  with,"  said  Tristram,  "you  will 
admit  that  my  position  is  about  as  foolish  as  any 
man's  can  be.  To  be  in  the  trenches  for  four 
months  without  a  scratch,  and  then,  the  day  after 
reaching  home  on  leave,  to  break  one's  leg  fooling 
about  with  a  pack  of  children — you'll  agree  that 
absurdity  couldn't  go  much  farther  than  that. 
Undignified,  too.  Well,  as  soon  as  I  could  get 
about  we  came  down  here,  and  on  the  first  day 
I  took  my  crutches  and  hobbled  down  to  the 

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parade.  That's  what  we'd  come  for,  and  I  never 
had  a  second  thought  about  it.  But  this  place, 
as  perhaps  you  have  noticed,  is  full  of  wounded 
men — really  wounded  men,  decently  injured  by 
bullets  and  shrapnel  and  the  other  honourable 
apparatus  of  war — and  before  I  realised  the 
situation,  there  I  was  all  among  them — I,  the 
only  fraud  there." 

"Fraud!"  I  interjected.  "What  rubbish  you 
talk !  After  four  months  in  the  trenches,  too." 

"That's  nothing,"  he  said.  "The  trenches  are 
not  the  point.  The  point  is  that  I  was  on 
crutches  from  a  leg  broken  in  the  silliest  possible 
way  at  home,  and  these  fellows  were  on  crutches 
with  legs  properly  crocked  up  at  the  front. 
I  tell  you  the  realisation  gave  me  a  shock.  Talk 
about  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing:  I  was  the  very 
limit.  I  was  quickly  made  to  feel  it,  for  before 
I  could  get  out  of  it  up  comes  an  old  lady  to 
insist  on  the  privilege  of  shaking  the  hand  of  one 
who  had  so  suffered  for  his  country;  and  then 
a  blazing  old  lunatic  took  his  hat  off  right  at  me 
and  said  it  was  an  honour  to  salute  one  of 
England's  heroes." 

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v    "So  you  are,"  said  little  Mrs.  Captain  stoutly. 

"Oh,  do  stop  talking  balderdash!"  said  her 
husband.  "I  put  it  to  you,"  he  added  to  me, 
"what  could  any  ordinary  decent  man  do  but  get 
back  here,  away  from  the  genuine  lot  of  wounded 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  lie  low*?" 

"Isn't  he  absurd — isn't  he  too  ridiculous*?" 
little  Mrs.  Captain  exclaimed.  "Fancy  carrying 
a  conscience  like  that  about  in  a  world  like  this !" 

"I  need  hardly  say,"  the  Captain  continued, 
"that  I  came  in  for  some  pointed  domestic 
criticism,  and  under  its  influence — and  it's  fairly 
potent,  you  know,"  he  remarked  in  parenthesis, 
throwing  his  wife  a  kiss — "under  its  influence 
I  consented  to  go  out  again,  but  only  on  con- 
dition that  I  might  put  myself  right  with  the 
public." 

"Do  listen  to  this,"  said  Mrs.  Captain — "the 
dear  old  snob!" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  her  husband.  "It  isn't  snob- 
bish to  wish  not  to  deceive.  Anyway,  snobbish  or 
not — and  we  shall  never  agree  about  this — I  had 
to  be  straight  with  myself,  so  I  prepared  a  placard 
to  the  effect  that  my  broken  leg  had  nothing  to 
[262] 


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do  with  the  war,  and  hung  it  on  one  of  my  crutches 
where  every  one  could  read;  and  would  you  be- 
lieve it,"  he  went  on  bitterly,  "within  a  few 
minutes  I  was  bombarded  by  a  new  set  of  old 
gentlemen  and  old  ladies  who  wished  to  shake 
the  hand  of  so  candid  a  man.  'Such  a  brave  teller 
of  the  truth,'  they  said.  So  there  you  are.  And 
now  you  understand  why  I  prefer  our  back  gar- 
den to  all  the  waves  of  the  English  Channel. 
Here,  at  any  rate,  I  am  not  a  fraud,  nor  am  I 
offered  compliments  on  being  merely  commonly 
honest." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  nonsense*?"  little 
Mrs.  Captain  inquired,  as  she  slipped  her  arm  into 
his.  "Bless  his  absurd  old  heart!" — Yours, 

R. 

CLXXII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GREY, — You  remember  that 
officer  cousin  of  mine  who  was  married  last  year  to 
another  of  my  cousins  *?  Well,  they've  got  a  kid. 

[263] 


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That  makes  the  war  seem  to  have  been  going  on 
for  a  bit,  doesn't  it1?  It's  a  boy.  People  used  to 
say  that  kids  born  in  war-time  were  usually  boys. 
I  wonder  how  that  is  working  out.  Personally  I 
would  rather  have  a  girl,  I  think — at  any  rate 
for  the  first.  I  have  always  been  sorry  I  had 
no  brother  or  sister,  and  you  are  like  that  too, 
aren't  you*?  And  we've  both  been  rather  alike  in 
taking  refuge  in  dogs. 

Do  you  think  friends  should  be  alike  or 
different*?  Some  people  say  one  and  some  the 
other.  I  think  it  is  jollier  to  be  alike  and  agree 
about  things.  I  know  I'm  always  nervous  when 
I  go  to  see  those  sort  of  married  people  who 
take  a  pride  in  having  different  tastes.  I'm 
always  afraid  there's  a  row  coming. — Yours 
sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

CLXXIII 

JERRY  HARDING  TO  His  WIFE 

MY  DEAREST  NAN, — Please  be  a  good  brave 
girl  and  never  write  to  me  again  about  being 

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wounded.  Suppose  the  Censor  had  opened  that 
letter  (which  by  great  good  luck  he  didn't  do), 
what  a  rotten  thing  for  him  to  read. 

There's  only  one  thing  to  do  in  this  beastly 
war,  my  sweet,  and  that  is  to  keep  one's  end  up 
and  grin.  We  must  never  give  way,  any  of  us, 
and  you  at  home  must  feel  just  as  much  on  active 
service  as  we  are  out  here.  I  don't  want  to  be 
wounded  for  many  reasons.  Chiefly  for  your  and 
our  sakes,  but  also,  very  considerably,  because  I 
want  to  go  on  fighting  these  brutes  till  we  lick 
them.  To  be  wounded  would  be  to  be  out  of  it, 
and  that  is  unthinkable. 

So  be  brave  and  trust  in  our  lucky  star. — 
Your  loving  J. 

CLXXIV 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  JOAN, — I  met  little  Harry  Lancaster 
yesterday,  hearty  as  ever  and  as  ever  running  over 
with  invitations  and  those  generous  impulses 
which  come  to  him  in  such  profusion  that  they 

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make  an  ordinarily  quite  hospitable  man  appear 
grudging.  He  had  just  left  his  brother,  who  is 
home  for  a  few  days  from  the  front.  Although 
fifty-five,  he  got  in  the  Army,  somehow,  and 
Harry  was  allowed  by  his  commanding  officer  to 
present  him  with  a  revolver,  although  sergeants 
are  not  supposed  to  carry  these.  And  what  do  you 
think  the  result  has  been1?  He  has  already  killed 
with  it,  beyond  any  doubt,  Harry  assured  me,  his 
eyes  dancing  with  pride,  "two  Germans  for  each 
member  of  the  family" — and  the  family  is  not 
a  small  one  either. 

"Splendid!"  I  said. 

What  bloodthirsty  ruffians  we  become! 

Poor  old  George — or  Jonah,  as  I  hear  he  is 
called  at  his  club — not  even  the  birth  of  a  new 
potential  soldier  adds  to  his  confidence  in  his 
country.  It  is  funny  how  many  Englishmen 
seem  to  want  to  belong  to  an  incompetent  race — 
are  not  happy  unless  they  can  convince  you  that 
all  their  goods  are  rotten.  I  wonder  if  it  was 
always  the  same  or  if  it  is  a  new  development. 
History  does  not  tell  us.  The  special  pity  of  it 
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is  that  this  kind  of  temperament  too  often  takes 
to  journalism. 

After  one  has  reached  a  certain  age  there  is  a 
great  danger  that  any  sudden  changes  of  one's 
habits  in  the  direction  of  economy  may  be  very 
costly.  My  recent  efforts  to  be  economical  have 
been  so  disastrous  that  I  think  of  dropping  them 
altogether,  and  merely  being  careful.  To  begin 
with,  I  knocked  off  taxis,  with  the  result  that 
I  got  a  vile  cold,  in  a  bus,  as  I  now  remember  I 
always  used  to  do.  That  cold  cost  me  several 
pounds,  for  it  kept  me  at  home  for  a  day  or  so 
and  depreciated  my  abilities  for  a  week.  I  also 
completely  upset  my  digestion  by  food  reforms, 
all  also  in  the  national  interest.  So  now  I  talk 
no  more  of  being  economical.  I  am  too  old  and 
also  too  impatient;  and  economy  and  impatience 
have  never  joined  hands.  But  after  office  hours 
and  apart  from  meals  I  think  I  can  save  a  little. 
— Yours,  R. 


[267] 


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CLXXV 

MRS.  RICHARD  BERNAL  TO  HER  HUSBAND 

MY  DARLING  DICK, — You  really  must  get 
leave  soon,  if  only  to  see  HIM.  He  is  really  too 
sweet  and  just  like  you.  I  am  getting  stronger 
every  day  and  shall  soon  be  about  again.  I  have 
been  a  model  patient,  the  Doctor  says,  but  that 
is  easy  with  this  little  mite  in  one's  arms.  He 
would  send  you  a  kiss  if  he  could,  I  know. — Your 

OLIVE 

CLXXVI 

PRIVATE   ARTHUR   COLEMAN    TO   Miss   ELLEN 

FRISBY 

DEAR  Miss  ELLEN, — I  received  your  welcome 
letter  last  night  and  it  has  given  me  the  highest 
pleasure,  although  it  might  have  been  longer.  I 
cannot  conceal  my  gratification  that  your  hair  is 
red.  It  is  my  favourite  colour  for  a  lady.  And 
blue  eyes  go  so  beautifully  with  it.  I  can  now 

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see  you,  I  think,  when  I  close  my  eyes  and  think 
very  hard.  Won't  you  add  to  your  other  kind- 
ness and  send  me  one  of  your  photos?  I  am  sure 
you  have  one  to  spare,  but  if  not  you  can  easily 
have  one  taken  at  Aylesbury. 

I  wish  you  had  answered  what  I  asked  about 
walking  out.  It  would  make  so  much  difference 
to  me  to  know  about  that,  not  because  I  should 
bother  you,  but  because  a  man  has  a  separate 
kind  of  thought  for  a  young  lady  who  is  fancy 
free  and  a  young  lady  who  is  not.  I  should  like 
to  know  too  if  there  are  any  footmen,  or  butlers, 
or  gardeners,  or  grooms  at  your  place.  They  are 
not  men  that  I  much  take  to.  You  might  like  to 
know,  though  you  don't  ask,  that  I  am  twenty- 
seven  come  July  and  a  joiner  by  trade.  My 
home  is  at  Birmingham  and  I  was  doing  well 
before  the  war,  and  my  place  is  to  be  kept  open 
for  me.  I  live  in  lodgings  at  Sparkbrook.  I  am 
just  six  feet  in  heigh th  and  have  brown  hair. — . 
Yours  respectfully  and  sincerely, 

ARTHUR  COLEMAN 


[269] 


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CLXXVII 

LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  JOAN, — A  perfectly  dreadful  thing  has 
happened  here.  I  don't  know  whether  you  re- 
member Mrs.  Wink,  the  little  woman  who  used 
to  help  in  the  kitchen  now  and  then1?  With 
very  prominent  eyes.  Well,  early  in  the  war  the 
news  came  that  her  husband,  who  was  a  reservist, 
was  killed,  and  after  a  year  she  married  again. 
You  see  what  is  coming — "Enoch  Arden"  once 
again.  Yesterday  who  should  walk  in  but  Wink 
himself,  with  only  one  arm  and  very  much  be- 
draggled, but  alive.  It  seems  that  he  was  left 
for  dead,  but  for  months  was  kept  at  a  farm  by 
some  kindly  French  people. 

Mrs.  Wink,  who  is  now  Mrs.  Blencowe,  began 
very  properly  by  fainting.  She  then  hurried  here 
for  advice.  It  seems  that  she  infinitely  prefers 
Blencowe,  her  new  husband,  who  is  the  postman, 
both  for  himself  and  his  position;  at  the  same 
time,  she  has  a  horror  of  the  sin  of  bigamy  and 
views  herself  with  a  certain  disgust.  The  situation 
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is  complicated,  as  usual,  by  various  human  incon- 
sistencies. Wink's  one  idea  being  to  regain  his 
home,  he  is  prepared  to  overlook  the  offence, 
whereas  his  wife,  it  is  very  obvious,  although  she 
never  puts  the  feeling  into  words,  would  much 
prefer  that  he  should  cast  her  off.  On  the  other 
hand,  Blencowe,  who  is  rumoured  already  to  have 
somewhat  tired  of  his  marriage,  takes  the  line  that 
Wink  is  a  much  wronged  man,  and  that  the  only 
reparation  due  to  him — namely,  the  surrender  of 
Mrs.  Blencowe — should  be  made. 

The  two  men  probably  may  be  dismissed  from 
the  plot  as  any  but  tragic  figures,  for  neither 
thinks  of  much  beside  his  own  comfort,  although 
Blencowe's  efforts  to  conceal  his  real  preferences 
under  a  cloak  of  high  magnanimity  are  beyond 
words  joyful  to  watch.  It  is  the  woman  who  is 
really  pathetic,  torn  as  she  is  between  shame,  self- 
respect,  a  certain  sense  of  loyalty  to  Wink  (who, 
however,  of  course  behaved  very  badly  in  not 
writing),  and  a  genuine  passion  for  Blencowe. 
And  of  course  there  is  everything  in  Blencowe's 
favour;  for  not  only  is  he  younger  than  Wink, 


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and  fit,  but  he  is  a  man  of  some  importance  in 
the  place,  and  can  tell  his  wife  what  he  reads  on 
our  post  cards. 

As  the  case  stands  at  present,  all  three,  by  the 
advice  of  the  rector,  are  isolated.  Blencowe  lives 
alone  in  his  cottage;  Wink  lodges  with  a  neigh- 
bour; and  Mrs.  Blencowe  has  rejoined  her  mother. 
A  new  Solomon  seems  to  be  the  real  need  of  the 
village,  which  meanwhile  was  never  half  so  happy. 
Old  feuds  have  been  patched  up  in  order  not  to 
hinder  the  flow  of  gossip  and  conjecture. 

Well,  we  shall  see  what  happens. — Your 

HELEN 

CLXXVIII 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  TOBY, — I  have  had  a  letter  from  that 
complacent  creature,  your  uncle  Bernal,  saying 
that  we  must  win,  because  Time  must  be  on  our 
side.  But  for  the  sake  of  argument,  granting  him 
that  point,  where  and  what  shall  we  be  then*? 
There  won't  be  a  penny  left  in  the  country.  As 
[272] 


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it  is,  we  are  spending  five  millions  a  day.    Where 
is  it  coming  from*?    Win  or  lose,  we  are  done. 

Why,  however,  I  am  writing  to  you  is  to  say 
that  I  hope  you  are  keeping  fit  in  France,  and  to 
ask  you  to  let  me  know  anything  interesting  that 
you  hear  over  there.  I  put  to  your  father  the 
same  reasonable  request,  but  either  he  did  not  get 
my  letter  or  cannot  find  time  to  answer  it. — 
Yours  cordially,  GEORGE  WISTON 

CLXXIX 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GREY, — I  don't  write  to  you 
half  as  much  as  I  want  to,  although  perhaps 
oftener  than  you  are  keen  on,  because  there  is 
too  much  to  do.  You  can't  have  any  notion  of 
what  a  rush  it  is  over  here,  and  how  impossible  to 
count  on  any  future  minute  as  your  own.  But  I 
often  look  at  your  photograph  and  bless  that 
advertisement  of  mine  and  old  Jerry's,  who  is  now 
my  cousin  by  marriage,  for  luring  me  on  to  the 
bet.  I  often  wonder  what  kind  of  letters  he  got 

[273] 


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in  answer  to  his.    Better  than  mine,  I  don't  fink. 

Tell  me  more  about  your  home,  won't  you4? 
Tell  me  what  your  father  is  painting  just  now, 
and  what  pictures  you  have  in  your  bedroom,  and 
who  is  your  favourite  author. 

I  am  not  much  at  reading  myself,  but  I  think 
The  Four  Feathers  is  ripping.  I  have  just  finished 
it.  I  like  Seton  Merriman  too.  A  man  here  has 
all  his  books. 

I  wonder  if  you  believe  in  fate.  I  mean  by 
fate  a  kind  of  chance  full  of  meaning,  or  perhaps 
predestination  is  the  best  word.  I  like  to  believe 
that  everything  that  happens  to  me  is  predestined. 
Part  of  a  scheme  all  arranged  by  the  stars  or 
whatever  it  is  that  does  these  things.  For 
instance,  I  believe  that  it  was  all  mapped  out  that 
I  should  put  that  advertisement  in  the  paper  and 
that  you  should  pick  me  out  to  write  to.  You  see 
it  might  so  easily  have  been  another  advertise- 
ment— old  Jerry's  even — but  it  wasn't.  That's 
the  corking  thing.  //  was  mine. 

Now  I  must  stop,  for  the  letters  are  being 
collected.  Whatever  else  there  is  to  grumble  at 
over  here,  wet,  and  rats, ,  and  Pip-Squeaks  and 
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Jack  Johnsons,  and  dirt  and  screwmaticks,  we  do 
get  two  things  up  to  sample,  and  those  are  the 
post  and  rations. 

Please  write  again  soon. — Yours  very  sincerely, 

TOBY  STARR 


CLXXX 

NANCY  HARDING  TO  HER  HUSBAND 

MY  DARLING  JERRY, — I  am  so  ashamed  of 
myself  to  write  as  I  did  and  to  make  such  a  fuss 
about  my  loneliness,  for  I  am  fortunate  indeed 
compared  with  some  wives.  Only  yesterday  I 
met  Cicely  Franklin  in  Kensington  Gardens.  You 
remember  how  jolly  she  used  to  be;  well,  she  is 
now  a  widow,  after  being  married  only  a  month 
longer  than  us.  Isn't  that  terrible*?  And  poor 
Uncle  Terence  has  lost  his  arm.  So  really,  since 
you  keep  fit,  I  ought  to  be  quite  gay.  I  promise 
you  I  will  be  as  brave  as  you  can  possibly  wish. 
— Your  ever-loving  NAN 

[275] 


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CLXXXI 

LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  JOAN, — Our  village  comedy  or  tragedy 
has  suddenly  taken  a  new  turn.  It  is  now  estab- 
lished that  Mrs.  Wink  is  to  present  the  world  with 
a  little  Blencowe.  (We  never  say  "baby"  here; 
we  say  "increase.")  This  alters  things.  Other- 
wise, I  believe,  Blencowe  would  have  been  forced, 
not  at  all  against  his  will,  to  retire,  and  Wink 
would  have  resumed  his  old  position  as  her  lord 
and  very  much  her  master.  But  Wink  now  pauses 
and  reflects,  and  not  unnaturally.  I  find  that  my 
kitchen  is  divided.  Cook  is  for  Blencowe  retain- 
ing the  lady ;  the  others  are  for  Wink.  The  rector, 
of  course,  says  that  Wink  is  the  true  husband,  but 
has  to  admit  that  he  is  being  tried  rather  high,  as 
the  Americans  say,  by  the  turn  that  events  have 
taken.  Were  it  not  that  Wink  wants  to  be 
worked  for  by  his  lawful  toiler,  and  live  comfort- 
ably ever  after,  he  would,  I  am  sure,  disappear 
again;  but  what  is  a  one-armed  man  to  do? — 
Yours,  H. 

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CLXXXII 
MRS.  PARK-STAN MER  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR, — It  is  extraordinary  how  the  un- 
happy people  always  come  to  me,  as  though  I 
was  a  kind  of  magnet.  I  think  I  told  you  about 
poor  Gerald  Vansittart.  Well,  he  has  now  gone 
to  France,  not,  I  am  glad  to  say,  to  the  front, 
but  in  some  safe  capacity,  and  he  writes  to  me  as 
often  as  he  can,  always  beginning  "Madonna." 
Isn't  that  sweet1? 

I  have  also  on  my  hands  another  lieutenant 
who  sticks  to  me  like  a  leech.  He  implored  me 
the  other  day  to  let  him  call  me  Amabel.  What 
is  one  to  do  when  they  ask  things  like  that?  I 
hate  to  be  unkind  and  say  no,  and  he  is  such  a 
forlorn  dear.  You  should  see  how  he  goes — quite 
white  and  tense — when  Horace  says  one  of  his 
sharp  things  to  me  or  finds  fault  with  anything. 
Last  night  at  dinner  Horace  swore  because  the 
soup  had  soot  in  it,  only  the  tiniest  little  lumps, 
and  I  thought  that  Guy — that's  his  name — would 

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have  struck  him.  If  he  had,  it  would  have  meant 
court  martial  and  imprisonment — isn't  that  aw- 
ful? It  makes  me  feel  so  responsible  and  fright- 
ened.— Yours  ever,  AMABEL 


CLXXXIII 

LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  JOAN, — The  Wink  case  has  solved  itself, 
but  not  too  satisfactorily.  Blencowe  has  vanished. 
This  must  have  cost  him  a  wrench,  I  know,  for  it 
is  no  small  thing  to  have  been  a  trusted  postman 
here  for  over  thirty  years  and  to  be  a  person  of 
some  importance  in  other  ways  too.  Besides,  he 
had  his  cottage,  quite  well  furnished,  garden,  and 
so  forth.  But  he  has  gone,  leaving  no  address,  but 
saying  that  he  will  never  return.  It  is  really  a 
story  for  W.  W.  Jacobs.  All  interest  is  now 
centred  in  the  future  relations  of  the  Winks, 
for  the  poor  little  woman  moves  about  like  one  in 
a  dream,  and  what  surname  the  child  is  to  pos- 
sess! Personally  it  would  not  surprise  if  it  was 

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never  born,  the  mother  is  so  likely  to  wake  up  one 
day  soon  and  do  something  desperate. 
I  have  only  good  news  of  Toby. — Yours, 

H. 

CLXXXIV 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — All  goes  well.  I  am 
pretty  tired,  but  I  mean  to  go  on. 

My  greatest  difficulty  over  here  just  now  is  not 
nursing  and  keeping  fit,  but  in  persuading  the 
French  people  whom  I  meet  and  the  wounded 
men  that  England  is  really  in  earnest.  They 
have  got  it  so  firmly  fixed  in  their  heads  that 
everything  is  going  on  just  the  same  with  us,  and 
that  we  are  only  playing  at  war,  that  this  is  no 
easy  job.  I  suppose  it  is  largely  the  difference 
between  a  conscripted  country  and  one  that  is 
not  conscripted;  and  they  lose  sight  altogether  of 
our  navy,  and  then  they  read  about  our  dis- 
gusting race  meetings.  And  the  poor  things,  of 
course,  are  on  a  very  different  footing  from  us, 
with  all  that  great  tract  of  France  occupied  by 

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tjie  Germans,  and  so  many  ruined  villages.     No 
wonder  they  are  a  little  sore  at  the  disparity. 

Here  is  rather  a  funny  thing.  I  asked  one  of 
the  English  soldiers  at  what  place  he  was 
wounded.  He  said  that,  as  it  happened,  he  had 
noticed  the  name  of  the  village  as  they  were 
entering  it.  It  was  "Ralentir" ! 

My  poor  text-book  French  is  not  much  good 
here  except  to  give  instructions  in.  But  the  men 
are  dears  and  do  all  they  can  to  make  it  easy  for 
me.  But  their  phrases  are  so  roundabout.  This 
is  a  very  common  one :  "II  va  y  avoir  du  boulot." 
That  means  there's  going  to  be  trouble.  And 
when  they  see  anything  rather  better  than  usual 
for  dinner  they  say,  "Se  caler  les  joues."  I  have 
bought  a  dictionary  of  poilu  terms,  but  it  can't 
ever  be  quite  up  to  date. 

Tell  me  about  Toby.  I  think  he  might  write 
to  me.  I  never  go  into  the  ward  where  the 
English  men  are  without  a  little  tremor  lest  he 
should  be  in  one  of  the  beds.  Poor  boy,  I  do  so 
hope  he  manages  not  to  "stop  one" — which  is 
what  being  hit  is  called  here. — Your  loving 

Vi. 
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CLXXXV 

ELLEN  FRISBY  TO  PRIVATE  ARTHUR  COLEMAN 

DEAR  MR.  COLEMAN, — It  has  not  been  con- 
venient to  have  a  new  photo  taken,  but  I  have 
written  to  my  sister  for  one  that  was  done  about 
a  year  ago.  My  friends  don't  think  it  quite  does 
me  justice,  and  I  do  my  hair  differently  now,  but 
none  the  less  I  send  it  as  you  are  so  kind  as  to 
wish  for  it.  I  am  putting  it  into  the  parcel,  to- 
gether with  some  sweets  and  cigarettes  and  a  few 
recent  numbers  of  Forget-me-Not  in  case  you 
want  a  read. 

I  thought  of  you  yesterday  when  three  aero- 
planes went  over. — Your  sincere  friend  and  well- 
wisher,  ELLEN  FRISBY 

CLXXXVI 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 

DEAR  SUTHERLAND, — Your  interesting  letter 
escaped  the  submarines. 

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,  We  too  have  aliens  in  our  midst,  but  the  aliens 
that  count  with  us  are  not  the  Germans  and 
Austrians,  who  are  mostly  interned,  but  the  in- 
triguers and  the  frivolists  and  the  bookmakers 
and  all  the  horde  of  petty  creatures  who  still  fan 
the  flames  of  the  old  Liberal  and  Tory  dissen- 
sions. They  are  the  true  enemy  in  our  midst, 
far  more  deadly  than  any  of  the  interned  waiters 
could  be,  or  probably  ever  wished  to  be.  For  no 
man  that  ever  willingly  left  his  own  fatherland  to 
scamper  about  plying  another  race  with  food  and 
drink  and  opportunities  for  abuse  that  he  may 
not  reply  to,  can  ever  be  much  of  a  foe. 

One  effect  of  the  war  here,  which  is  getting 
v.ery  noticeable,  is  a  relaxation  of  propriety.  The 
word  having  gone  forth  (and  naturally  enough) 
that  nothing  is  too  good  for  the  fighting  man, 
a  new  tolerance  has  come  in  with  regard  to  his 
amours.  Girls  may  almost  be  said  to  be  set  at 
him.  The  more  frivolous  papers,  both  in  picture 
and  paragraph,  deal  with  little  else;  and  it  seems 
to  be  a  point  of  honour  (or  dishonour)  both  with 
editors,  theatrical  managers,  and  modistes  to  con- 
vert the  schoolgirl  into  the  woman  of  the  world 

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with  breathless  haste.  I  should  like  to  think  that 
we  were  going  to  adjust  these  things  later  on. 
The  healthy  years  between  seventeen  and  twenty- 
one  are  too  good  in  a  girl's  life  to  be  lost.  The 
Personal  Columns  of  the  papers  yield  further 
proofs  of  the  young  officer's  roving  proprietary 
eye.  This  kind  of  advertisement  occurs  every 
morning : 

GAIETY. — Will  YOUNG  LADY,  black  hat,  last 
but  one,  fourth  row,  Wed.  Matinee,  COMMUNI- 
CATE with  officer  two  rows  behind1? 

There  must,  of  course,  have  been  a  certain  amount 
of  wireless  communication  in  the  theatre  to  make 
such  an  advertisement  possible.  What  one  won- 
ders is,  if  these  people  always  read  the  same 
papers. 

We  have  not  yet  reached  the  frankness  of  the 
French,  and  probably  shall  not;  but  some  of  our 
men  seem  already  to  have  learned  French  candour 
and  machinery,  judging  by  the  following  which 
I  cut  from  La  Vie  Parisienne: 

JEUNE  OFFICIER  cavalerie  anglaise,  ayant  6 
mois  front,  desire,  pour  prochaine  permission 

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Paris,  correspondre  avec  jeune  femme  jolie,  dis- 
tinguee,  chataine  ou  blonde;  discretion  d'officier. 
Ecrire:  Captain  MacBlank,  Poste  Restante, 
Montfaucon. 

JEUNE  DOCTEUR  anglais,  au  front,  cherch.  jol. 
marr.  Parisienne,  type  Fabiano,  aimant  beaucoup 
flirt.— A.  B.,  1586  Brigade,  R.F.A.,  B.E.F. 

I  think  that  among  the  most  unhappy  men  left 
in  London  must  be  the  head  waiters  who  are 
either  Swiss,  or  pretend  successfully  to  be,  or  are 
over  age  for  war.  Unhappy,  not  because  they 
cannot  fight,  but  because  they  cannot  get  waiters. 
There  is  not  a  restaurant  in  London  to-day  which 
has  any  but  second-rate  and  third-rate  waiters — 
old  men  or  weakly  young  men.  To  have  engaged 
girls,  as  the  clubs  have  done,  would  be  wiser;  but 
for  some  reason  this  has  been  avoided.  But  cus- 
tomers should  be  very  lenient  about  bad  service. 
I  am  aware  that  the  war  is  made  the  scapegoat 
to  cover  a  great  many  defects  with  which  it  has 
nothing  to  do;  but  for  inferior  service  it  is  wholly 
responsible,  and  most  of  the  strain  and  censure 
fall  on  the  unfortunate  head  waiters.  I  watch 

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them  growing  visibly  older  and  more  haggard. — 
Yours,  R.  H. 

CLXXXVII 

ANNE  WISTON  TO  LADY  STARR 

[This  letter,  having  been  excised  by  the  Press 
Bureau,  cannot  be  printed  until  after  the  war. 
-E.  V.  L.] 

CLXXXVIII 

PORTIA  GREY  TO  TOBY  STARR 

DEAR  MR.  STARR, — I  had  never  thought  much 
about  predestination,  but  I  can  quite  understand 
that  it  is  an  attractive  belief.  For  one  thing,  you 
can  never  prove  that  there  is  no  such  force  at 
work.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  how,  when 
the  world  is  so  full  of  people  and  other  living 
things,  any  one  creature  can  believe  itself  to  be 
the  object  of  so  much  attention.  Doesn't  that 
thought  give  you  any  trouble?  The  whole  riddle 
of  existence  is  all  so  mysterious  and  tremendous 

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\ 

that  whenever  I  find  myself  thinking  of  it  I 
change  the  subject;  and  since  the  war  it  has  be- 
come more  perplexing  still,  with  the  Germans 
and  ourselves  equally  claiming  our  successes  to 
be  due  to  God's  goodness.  One  of  us  must  be 
mistaken.  I  think  the  French,  who  say  nothing 
about  God,  are  wiser. 

A  very  interesting  man  has  been  staying  here, 
and  we  have  had  some  long  walks.  The  country 
is  so  beautiful  just  now — it  seems  impossible  that 
all  the  fighting  can  be  going  on  just  over  there. 
— Yours  sincerely,  PORTIA  GREY 

CLXXXIX 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 
[See  note  to  letter  CLXXXVII.] 

cxc 

PRIVATE  ARTHUR  COLEMAN  TO  ELLEN  FRISBY 

DEAR    Miss    ELLEN, — Your    photo    arrived 
safely,  together  with  the  peppermints  and  Wood- 
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bines.  Thank  you  very  kindly.  I  like  your  photo 
and  keep  it  handy.  The  hair  seems  very  nicely 
done,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  but  ladies  are  not 
so  easily  satisfied.  I  wonder  what  your  new  way 
of  doing  it  is  like. 

It  is  very  dull  here,  and  more  so  since  some 
silly  juggins  lost  two  of  the  cards  out  of  our 
pack.  We  had  an  entertainment  last  night,  in 
which  I  gave  an  imitation  of  George  Robey,  but 
it  wasn't  a  great  success,  because  I  couldn't  re- 
member all  the  words  of  the  song,  and  no  one  else 
knew  them,  but  you  should  have  seen  my  arched 
eyebrows.  They  were  a  knock  out.  We  don't 
have  another  entertainment  fpr  a  fortnight,  and  I 
think  I  shall  imitate  Harry  Champion  then.  Do 
you  know  him*?  He  sang  "Boiled  beef  and  car- 
rots." One  of  our  lot  is  rather  a  brainy  chap,  and 
he  is  writing  a  revue,  and  I  may  get  a  part  in 
that.  It  is  to  be  called  Hate  Dirty:  or,  We're 
all  Hundone.  Little  Willie  is  to  come  into  it. 
Hate  dirty  means  8.30,  which  is  the  time  the  piece 
begins.  Do  you  see  the  joke"? 

I  would  rather  have  the  weekly  Mirror  than 
Forget-me-Not,  if  you  don't  mind;  but  I  like  the 

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name  of  the  latter.  I  must  close  now,  as  dinner 
is  nearly  ready.  Hoping  that  you  are  well  and 
in  good  spirits. — I  am,  yours  truly, 

ARTHUR  COLEMAN 


CXCI 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  Miss  GREY, — I  snatch  a  moment  or 
so  in  my  dug-out  to  answer  your  last,  which 
made  me  very  homesick.  How  extraordinary 
lucky  that  friend  of  yours  is  to  be  able  to  walk 
about  dear  Old  England,  and  with  you.  I  feel  as 
if  I  would  give  anything  to  be  in  a  Kentish  lane 
again  and  see  the  flowers  and  smell  the  freshly  cut 
wood  in  a  coppice.  But  I  should  be  mouldy  com- 
pany for  you,  I  fear,  because  I  can't  talk  and 
I  don't  really  know  about  anything  except  per- 
haps cricket. 

There  is  no  country  here — at  least  not  what 

we  mean  by  country.    It  is  all  country  really,  but 

blasted  by  the  shells.     Next  to  a  dead  pal  torn 

to  pieces,  nothing  gives  you  such  an  idea  of  how 

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rotten  war  is  as  a  wood  of  flowers  and  leaves 
all  blackened  and  the  trees  smashed  and  every 
bird  scared  miles  away.  Not  every  bird,  though. 
It  is  wonderful  how  some  have  stuck  it. 

I  hope  I  don't  bore  you  with  all  this. 

I  keep  very  fit,  and  of  course  it  is  fearfully 
exciting  never  knowing  what  is  going  to  happen 
any  minute.  It  seems  impossible,  when  you  think 
about  it,  that  anyone  can  escape  being  hit,  but  of 
course  lots  do. 

We'll  get  to  Lord's  yet! — Yours  sincerely, 

TOBY  STARR 


CXCII 

GEOFFREY  HARDING,  J.P.,  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  MR.  HAVEN, — You  will  probably  re- 
member me,  for  we  met  the  other  day  when  my 
son  Jerry  married  your  niece  Miss  Bernal.  I 
write  now  on  a  very  sad  business :  no  less  than  to 
say  that  Jerry  is  dead.  I  have  just  received  a  War 
Office  telegram  to  that  effect,  and  I  am  writing  to 
ask  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  tell  his  wife.  It  is 

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tjuite  beyond  my  powers,  and,  moreover,  I  have 
the  boy's  mother  to  comfort  here.  There  is  no 
real  comfort  possible.  I  can  only  say,  "The  Lord 
gave  and  the  Lord  taketh  away,"  and  remind  her 
that  his  end  was  unselfish  and  soldierly,  and  his 
life  laid  down  for  his  country  and  for  freedom. 
He  was  a  good  boy,  and  I  wish  now  that  I  had 
increased  his  allowance.  If  your  niece  would  like 
to  come  up  to  us  here  a  little  later  for  a  good  cry 
I  expect  it  would  do  us  all  good. 

You  must  forgive  me  for  putting  this  heavy 
task  on  to  you,  but  I  feel  that  you  would  be  kinder 
than  a  letter,  and  telegrams  I  don't  believe  in. — 
Yours  sincerely,  GEOFFREY  HARDING 

\ 

CXCIII 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  am  grieved  to  have  to 
tell  you  that  our  poor  little  Nancy  is  a  widow 
already.  Her  father-in-law  had  the  news  by 
telegram  and  asked  me  to  break  it.  You  will 
see  the  name  in  the  official  list  in  a  day  or  so. 
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I  went  over  to  Campden  Hill  at  once  and  found 
the  child  alone — both  Digby  and  Margaret  were 
out,  destination  unknown,  but  undoubtedly  both 
hard  at  work  in  some  or  other  war  industry. 
These  are  terrible  moments;  but  something  grave 
in  my  appearance  and  the  unusual  event  of  my 
being  there  at  all  served  as  a  kind  of  herald,  so 
that  she  jumped  at  the  fact  and  no  words  were 
needed.  I  suppose  that,  like  all  the  young  wives 
to-day,  she  was  expecting  it.  Poor  creatures,  how 
can  they  escape  that  dread?  Well,  we  had  a 
good  cry — my  first  tears  for  I  can't  say  how  long, 
but  years  and  years. 

She  will  be  very  brave,  I  am  sure,  and  there  is 
this  to  help  the  young  widows  in  war-time — that 
there  are,  alas!  so  many  of  them  that  they  can 
supply  courage  to  each  other;  at  any  rate,  one 
must  not  be  less  brave  than  another,  and  being 
soldiers'  widows,  and  their  husbands  having  died 
fighting,  they  too  must  show  gallantry.  But  the 
poor  little  thing  is  horribly  bruised  and  broken. 
For  the  moment  she  has  no  foothold  and  sees  no 
future^ 

Write  to  her.  Every  letter  for  a  while  will 

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start  her   tears   afresh,    and   that  brings   relief. 
— Your  loving  RICHARD 

CXCIV 

NANCY  HARDING  TO  MRS.  HAVEN 

MY  DEAREST  GRANNY, — Thank  you  for  your 
darling  letter.  I  am  going  to  be  as  brave  as  I 
am  sure  Jerry  was  and  as  he  would  like  me 
to  be. 

Everybody  has  been  so  kind.  I  had  never 
thought  there  was  so  much  kindness  in  the  world. 
I  am  sure  I  have  had  as  many  as  fifty  letters,  and 
it  is  wonderful  to  think  of  all  these  people,  with 
things  to  do,  finding  the  time  to  write,  and  such 
very  sweet  letters  too.  Three  or  four  were  from 
Jerry's  fellow  officers  in  France,  saying  such 
splendid  things  about  him.  It  all  makes  me 
wonder  more  and  more  what  he  could  see  in  me 
to  wish  to  marry  me.  But  that  is  just  nothing 
but  a  strange  dream  now. 

Such  a  sweet  thing  happened  yesterday.  Next 
door  to  us  live  the  Woodhouses,  and  they  have 
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two  children,  a  little  boy  and  girl  of  about  eight 
or  nine.  Perfect  dears.  Well,  what  do  you 
think  these  little  pets  did,  but  struggle  in,  soon 
after  breakfast,  with  their  gramophone  and  a  pile 
of  records,  because  they  had  heard  that  I  was 
unhappy  and  they  thought  that  the  music  would 
cheer  me  up.  Andrew,  the  boy,  who  has  great 
blue  eyes,  very  seriously  recommended  "Tipper- 
ary"  as  a  cheerful  tune.  An  avenging  nurse  soon 
followed,  but  they  had  really  done  me  good. 

I  shall  now  get  a  war  job  which  will  take  up 
every  minute  of  the  day. — Your  loving 

NANCY 


cxcv 

DIGBY  BERNAL  TO  GEORGE  WISTON 

MY  DEAR  GEORGE, — I  am  sure  your  only 
interest  is  in  England  and  the  Allies  winning  the 
war;  but  I  can't  help  feeling  that  you  and  your 
favourite  journals  make  a  mistake  in  supposing 
that  our  leaders  and  rulers  do  not  equally  want 
that  end  and  toil  honestly  for  it.  Everything 

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'•seems  to  me  to  be  going  on  all  right — not  rapidly, 
but  surely.  To  be  frank,  I  can't  understand 
those  Englishmen,  with  whom  you  seem  to  me 
sometimes  to  sympathise,  who  are  suspicious  of 
everything  that  the  Government  and  those  in 
power  do,  and  who  look  on  the  heads  of  depart- 
ments as  corrupt,  or  incapable,  or  both.  Why  is 
it  so  distasteful  to  suppose  equally  that  every  one 
is  doing  his  best*?  Sometimes  when  I  read  your 
letters  or  hear  you  talk  I  wonder  if  you  will  not 
be  really  disappointed  when  the  war  is  over  and 
we  have  won.  Forgive  me  for  writing  like  this, 
but  when  one  has  a  son  fighting,  and  has  just  lost 
a  son-in-law,  one  is  even  less  prepared  for  con- 
tinual and  not  particularly  well-grounded  attacks 
on  the  War  Office  and  the  Cabinet.  I  don't 
think  you  can  have  quite  realised  how  much 
worse  that  kind  of  thing  can  make  it  for  parents 
and  those  who  are  bereaved. — I  am,  yours 
sincerely,  DIGBY 


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CXCVI 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  DIGBY  BERNAL 

DEAR  DIGBY, — Your  letter  came  as  a  great 
surprise  to  me.  You  seem  completely  to  mis- 
understand my  attitude,  and  to  think  that  I  find 
fault  for  the  sheer  pleasure  of  doing  so.  Nothing 
could  be  farther  from  the  fact.  My  case  is,  that 
there  is  supineness  in  every  department  of  public 
life  to-day.  The  Government  fears  to  do  any 
bold  thing.  For  example,  it  does  not  deport  or 
intern  all  the  hostile  aliens,  most  of  whom  are 
dangerous  spies.  Why1?  Because  there  is  no  one 
with  enough  imagination  to  see  that  a  man  once 
a  German  is  always  a  German.  Imagination  is 
indeed  the  crying  need  of  the  moment.  Then 
look  at  our  air  service.  Look  at  our  ordnance. 
Why  have  we  not  siege  guns  like  the  Germans'? 
Why  have  we  no  Zeppelins'?  People  say  that  the 
Navy  is  all  right;  but  how  do  we  know*?  What 
do  we  know  of  Jellicoe*?  Why  was  not  Lord 
Fisher  put  in  command'? 

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»  As  you  no  doubt  have  noticed  in  life,  it  is 
the  small  things  that  tell.  It  is  the  straws  which 
indicate  the  direction  of  the  wind.  Only  yesterday 
I  saw  a  letter  from  a  man  at  the  front  who  said 
that  the  very  first  time  he  put  his  spade  to  the 
earth,  to  begin  a  new  trench,  it  broke.  What  do 
you  say  to  that1?  That  means  bad  work  at  the 
contractor's,  and  without  honest  contractors  no 
army  can  win. 

I  quite  appreciate  your  wish  that  everything 
should  be  all  right  in  this  best  of  all  possible 
worlds;  but  I  fear  you  are  destined  to  some  very 
ugly  awakenings. — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 

CXCVII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER, — I  am  most  awfully  cut 
up  about  Jerry.  He  was  a  jolly  good  sort  and 
my  best  pal.  Please  give  my  love  to  poor  Nancy. 
I  would  write  to  her  but  I  don't  know  how  to. 

Now  I  come  to  think  about  it,  Jerry  didn't  look 

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as  if  he  would  get  through;  but  it  hadn't  struck 
me  before. 

Somehow  or  other  the  bullets  miss  me.  There 
is  no  reason  why  they  should,  but  they  do,  and  I 
hope  they'll  make  a  habit  of  it  to  the  end.  But 
I  have  had  some  jolly  near  shaves  and  have  seen 
lots  of  good  fellows  laid  low.  Only  yesterday 
poor  Hugh  Blackstone  was  pipped  right  at  my 
side,  and  he  lasted  only  ten  minutes.  He  was 
able  to  give  me  a  few  messages,  and  he  said  one 
thing  I  shall  never  forget.  "I  hope  we're  all 
dying  to  some  purpose,"  he  said.  "It  will  be 
awful  if  this  war  leaves  off  in  such  a  state  that 
another  can  begin  soon  afterwards." 

What  do  you  think  those  German  blighters  in 
the  trench  opposite  us  did  the  other  day*?  This 
is  a  gospel  fact,  and  it  shows  that  there's  been 
some  peace  talk  among  them.  They  held  up  a 
placard  with  these  words  on  it:  "Shoot  high, 
boys ;  we  shall  be  shaking  hands  in  2  or  3  weeks." 
It  is  a  bit  of  a  commentary  on  England  and 
Germany  that  there  is  always  in  every  German 
trench  some  one  who  can  speak  English,  but  jolly 
seldom  any  one  in  ours  who  can  speak  German — 


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at  any  rate,  any  private.  It's  because  so  many 
Germans  come  over  to  England  to  be  waiters 
and  barbers,  I  suppose.  Well,  not  for  a  long 
time  in  the  future,  I  guess. 

I  get  messages  from  the  pater  now  and  then, 
but  there's  no  chance  to  see  him. 

Consider  yourself  well  kissed. — Your  loving 
son,  TOBY 

CXCVIII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  NANCY  HARDING 

MY  VERY  DEAR  NANCY, — I  came  upon  these 
verses  to-day  and  I  at  once  copy  them  out  for 
you,  for  I  think  they  may  comfort  you,  as  they 
have  comforted  me.  Let  us  hold  firmly  by  what 
they  say.  I  do. — Your  affectionate  uncle, 

R.  H. 

[Enclosure] 

We  stand  one  with  the  men  that  died, 
Come  dawn,  come  dark,  we  have  these  beside; 
Living  or  dead  we  are  comrades  all. 
Our  battles  are  won  by  the  men  that  fall. 

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He  who  died  quick  with  his  face  to  the  foe, 
In  the  heart  of  a  friend  must  needs  die  slow; 
Over  his  grave  shall  be  heard  the  call, 
The  battle  is  won  by  the  men  that  fall. 

For  a  dead  man  leaves  you  work  to  do, 
Your  heart's  so  full  that  you  fight  for  two; 
And  the  dead  man's  aim  is  the  best  of  all, 
The  battle  is  won  by  the  men  that  fall. 

O  lads,  dear  lads,  who  were  loyal  and  true, 
The  worst  of  the  fight  was  borne  by  you ; 
So  the  word  shall  go  to  cottage  and  hall, 
Our  battles  are  won  by  the  men  that  fall. 

When  peace  dawns  over  the  countryside, 
Our  thanks  shall  be  to  the  lads  that  died. 
O  quiet  hearts,  can  you  hear  us  tell 
How  peace  was  won  by  the  men  that  fell?1 


CXCIX 

PRIVATE  ARTHUR  COLEMAN  TO  ELLEN  FRISBY 

DEAR  Miss  ELLEN, — Thank  you  for  the  weekly 
Mirror.     There   doesn't   seem   to   be  much   the 

1  This  poem  is  entitled  "The  Winners"  and  is  by  Mr. 
Laurence  Housman. 

[299] 


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matter  with  Old  England.  Everything  seems 
to  be  very  much  as  usual  with  you.  I  sit  and 
smoke  and  think  about  England  till  I  can't 
bear  myself.  This  is  an  awful  country  for  church 
bells,  and  though  they're  not  like  ours  they  make 
me  horribly  home-sick.  I  don't  mean  that  I  go 
to  church,  but  on  Sunday  mornings  some  of  us 
usually  go  a  walk  far  enough  to  get  a  drink  and 
then  back  to  dinner.  And  I  don't  know  why, 
but  I've  been  thinking  of  marigolds  and  sweet 
williams.  The  gardens  here  are  poor  affairs. 
And  fried  onions. 

I've  got  a  pal  here  who  has  no  one  to  write  to 
him.  If  you  had  a  friend  who  wanted  to  write  he 
would  be  grateful  to  receive  her  letters.  But  not 
you^  of  course.  You  write  to  me.  He's  a  nice 
chap,  named  Alf  Wilkins,  and  some  boxer,  I  can 
tell  you.  A  middle  weight,  tell  your  friend. 

I  must  now  stop,  as  it  is  dinner-time,  and 
although  I  have  no  appetite  one  must  eat  to  live. 

God  bless  you,  Miss  Ellen. — Your  admiring 
friend,  ART 


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cc 

LADY  STARR  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  JOAN, — If  you  want  John  to  earn  some 
money  and  grow  up  quickly  without  going  into 
the  army,  now's  the  time.  Just  think  of  it — 
there's  Hilda  Grierson,  my  cousin's  girl,  only  left 
school  a  few  minutes  and  already  earning  money. 
If  the  Kaiser  had  never  got  on  his  hind  legs  she 
would  merely  be  playing  tennis,  and  staying  with 
friends,  and  burrowing  in  Vogue,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  But  now  she  has  some  clerical  job  at 
twenty-five  shillings  a  week,  eight  hours  a  day. 
At  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  of  all  places! 
The  Gallery  is  closed  to  the  public,  and  there  she 
sits,  with  hundreds  of  other  girls,  earning  her 
living.  What  a  wonderful  war !  All  around  her, 
she  says,  are  pictures  of  national  highbrows,  and 
hardly  a  woman  among  them.  She  has  an  hour 
for  lunch,  and  tea  on  the  premises,  and  every 
Thursday  they  hand  her,  in  her  own  horrid  slang, 
"twenty-five  of  the  best." 

I  am  quite  sure  that  when  the  war  is  over  she 

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will  want  to  continue  to  receive  a  salary.    Won't 
there  be  some  tangles  to  unravel  then! 

I  was  amused  in  London  yesterday  to  see  the 
posters  headed  "Bad  Form  in  Dress."  What  an 
amazing  people  we  are!  Surely  such  a  matter 
could  be  left  to  be  discovered  by  ourselves.  The 
notice  at  one  of  the  theatres,  "Evening  dress 
optional  but  not  fashionable,"  is  much  better. — 
Yours,  HELEN 


MY  DEAR  HELEN, — Times  change  indeed.  I 
was  alone  in  a  smoking  carriage  yesterday,  on  my 
way  to  the  country,  when  at  a  wayside  station 
in  walked  two  vigorous  young  women  in  short 
tweed  skirts. 

Directly  the  train  had  started  one  of  them 
pulled  out  a  cigarette-case  and  they  each  took  a 
cigarette.  Nothing  in  this  really,  and  perhaps  I 
should  not  have  noticed  it  had  I  not  just  begun 
to  leave  off  tobacco  myself,  partly  from  medical 
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advice,  and  partly  from  war  economy.  Women 
have  smoked  for  years,  and  yet  there  was  some- 
thing new  about  these  two  girls — they  were  so 
self-reliant,  so  vigorous  and  seemingly  so  wholly 
independent  of  the  sex  to  which  I  belong.  They 
leaned  back  and  smoked,  without  talking,  and  at 
their  own  station  I  saw  them  drive  off  in  a  run- 
about car  which  was  waiting  for  them,  the  wheel 
being  taken  by  the  owner  of  the  cigarette-case. 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  man 
never  feels  his  empire  slipping  from  him  so  surely 
as  when,  all  ignorant  of  cars,  he  stands  by,  incap- 
able of  helping,  while  a  fragile  female  creature 
turns  the  crank  that  starts  her  engine.  If  only  to 
preserve  my  respect  a  little  longer,  I  must  (much 
as  I  hate  motors)  take  a  few  lessons  in  car  man- 
agement.— Yours,  R. 

ecu 

MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — You  will  be  pleased  to  hear 
that  Archibald  is  at  last  in  a  most  comfortable 

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post,  with  quite  a  nice  little  salary  too.  He  is 
assistant  secretary  to  a  new  league  for  promoting 
Economy.  Great  things  are  expected  of  it,  and  I 
am  sure  the  dear  boy  will  be  of  real  assistance  in 
drawing  up  the  programme  of  the  suggested  re- 
trenchments, for  he  had  to  rough  it  terribly  when 
he  was  in  Paris  learning  to  paint.  I  remember 
him  telling  me  that  he  was  often  so  hungry  that 
he  would  drink  the  juice  in  an  oyster  shell  as  well 
as  eat  the  oyster.  Only  fancy! — Yours  ever, 

MAUDE 

CCIII 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 
[See  note  to  letter  CLXXXVII.] 

CCIV 

MRS.  HAVEN  TO  HER  SISTER  IN  NEW  ZEALAND, 
MRS.  GLAZEBROOK 

MY  DEAR  EMMIE, — December  has  again  come 
round,   and  again  I  sit  down  to  send  you  my 

[304] 


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annual  budget  of  news.  The  war  still  goes  on, 
and  no  one  can  see  into  the  future  far  enough  to 
know  anything  of  what  is  to  happen;  but  every 
one  tries.  My  neighbour  here,  Sir  Caxton 
Plumbe,  has  been  saying  for  months  that  six 
weeks  will  see  it  through.  He  is  quite  unabashed 
by  its  persistence;  and  of  course  a  time  must 
arrive  when  he  will  be  right,  and  then  there  won't 
be  a  happier  man  in  the  world.  My  son-in-law 
George  Wiston  doesn't  believe  it  will  ever  be  over 
at  all,  for  he  looks  upon  Peace  with  a  gloomier  eye 
even  than  he  keeps  for  war :  Peace  being,  for  him, 
only  the  beginning  of  new  hostilities.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  think  that  secretly  he  likes  a  war 
to  be  on.  It  provides  his  natural  pessimism  and 
grievance-mongering  with  really  big  opportunities. 
My  other  civilian  son-in-law,  Digby  Bernal, 
expects  a  sudden  end  through  internal  German 
troubles.  Richard  follows  Lord  Kitchener,  and 
is  prepared  for  three  years.  Helen's  husband, 
Sir  Vincent,  being  on  the  Staff,  says  nothing — but 
looks  profound. 

Anne   is    still   busy   over   a   number   of   war 
charities  and  in  taking  care  of  me.     I  hope  that 

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tny  needs  in  this  out-of-the-way  place  are  not 
keeping  her  from  marriage,  but  I  fear  sometimes 
that  they  are  and  I  ought  to  let  her  go  where 
there  are  more  men.  But  then,  where  is  that*? 
There  are  no  men  of  the  age  she  requires  who  are 
not  fighting.  There  may  be  a  few  still  avoiding 
it,  but  Anne  would  not  look  at  them.  And  the 
fine  young  fellows  that  are  maimed  and  killed! 
Margaret's  daughter  Nancy  had  been  married 
only  a  few  weeks  when  her  husband,  a  nice 
youth  from  Northumberland,  was  killed.  She  is 
very  brave  about  it,  and  has  taken  up  a  lot  of 
responsibilities  by  way  of  occupying  her  thoughts ; 
but  the  chances  are  she  will  not  marry  again,  and 
so  far  as  I  have  heard  there  is  to  be  no  little  one. 
Similar  cases  meet  one  on  every  hand — several 
just  round  us.  Kate's  daughter  Olive,  who 
married  Nancy's  brother  Dick,  is,  however,  happy 
with  a  little  boy,  and  Dick  is  still  unhurt. 

Joan's  daughter  Violet  is  in  Paris  nursing 
French  soldiers.  She  sends  her  aunt  Helen 
interesting  letters  which  go  the  round  of  the 
family. 

Anne  and  I  had  one  most  amazing  experience, 

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such  as  I  never  expected  to  live  to  see.     We 
[Rest  of  paragraph  excised  by  the  Press  Bureau.] 

Since  I  wrote  last  the  Germans  have  done 
many  other  terrible  things  too.  Perhaps  you 
heard  of  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania  and  the 
shooting  of  Nurse  Cavell.  I  never  quite  know 
what  kind  of  things  you  are  told  so  far  away. 
In  England  the  difficulty  is  to  avoid  hearing  too 
many  things,  there  are  so  many  papers,  and,  since 
the  war,  so  many  people  who  know  people  who  are 
in  a  position  to  know  others  in  influential  places. 

Sir  Caxton  Plumbe  is  always  calling  in  here 
to  tell  me  the  latest  rumours.  Anne  reminds  me 
of  all  the  times  he  has  been  wrong  and  tells 
me  to  disregard  him,  but  for  the  moment  I  must 
admit  he  often  startles  me  dreadfully.  This  very 
morning,  for  example,  he  brought  news  of  the 
discovery  of  a  German  mine  right  under  the  War 
Office.  It  was  found  out  just  in  time.  He  calls 
all  these  things  the  work  of  the  Unseen  Hand, 
which  he  says  is  everywhere,  and  will  be  until 
Lord  Haldane  is  interned!  It  seems  that  Lord 
Haldane  dug  this  mine  himself  in  his  spare  time 
when  he  was  War  Secretary !  But  I  don't  believe 

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rt.  I  have  seen  his  portrait.  Still,  that's  the  way 
they  talk. 

If  you  have  not  heard,  dear  Emmie,  let  me  tell 
you  that  the  German  disregard  of  decency  and 
truth  and  humanity  still  goes  on.  It  is  all  very 
strange  to  me  who  remember  so  many  Germans  in 
Berlin  and  Heidelberg  and  other  places  when  on 
my  wedding  tour,  and  all  of  them,  although  not 
quite  as  we  should  like  them,  especially  at  table, 
apparently  warm-hearted  and  honourable.  I  re- 
member one  German  gentleman,  I  think  he  was  a 
Professor,  who  was  most  charming  with  a  cage 
of  little  birds.  To-day,  were  he  living,  which  is 
hardly  likely  though,  for  he  was  an  elderly  man 
then,  he  would,  I  suppose,  be  applauding  his  coun- 
trymen's wickedness.  Even  the  pastors  call  for 
the  destruction  of  England.  The  only  two  pastors 
that  I  met  were  on  a  walking  tour,  and  were  only 
too  glad  of  the  shelter  of  our  carriage  in  a  thunder- 
storm in  some  wild  part  of  Saxony.  They  were 
so  placid  and  bovine  and  far  too  hot;  but  quite 
amiable.  And  to  think  of  the  Germans  to-day! 

Everything  is  getting  more  expensive  here,  and 
my  poor  income  is  being  reduced  every  day  by 

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income  tax  and  so  forth.     But  I  think  of  the 
soldiers  fighting,  and  don't  complain. 

Well,  dear  Emmie,  I  must  now  close. — Your 
loving  sister,  VICTORIA 

ccv 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — There  has  been  a  very 
strange  case  here — a  splendid  French  officer, 
very  tall  and  dark  and  handsome,  who  had  been 
in  terrible  pain  for  days  and  the  doctors  couldn't 
find  out  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  He  was 
so  strong  that  it  took  three  or  four  orderlies  and 
nurses  to  hold  him  in  bed  when  his  paroxysms 
came  on.  Well,  he  was  getting  so  much  worse 
that  his  people  were  sent  for,  but  when  they  came 
nothing  could  induce  them  to  see  him.  Isn't  that 
extraordinary?  They  could  not  stand  the  idea 
of  death,  or  even  of  such  illness  as  that,  and  there 
they  all  stood  in  the  passage,  crying,  and  now 
and  then  one  would  peep  through  the  door  at 
him.  But  they  daren't  go  in,  although  he  was 

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'quite  conscious  and  longed  to  see  somebody  he 
knew.  I  did  all  I  could  to  overcome  their 
reluctance,  but  it  was  no  use. 

He  died  yesterday,  and  now  the  doctors  have 
found  that  all  the  time  he  had  a  bullet  right  in 
his  heart,  but  he  was  so  strong  that  it  took  that 
long  time  to  kill  him.  I  never  saw  such  a  hand- 
some man. 

How  different  people  can  be!  Some  of  the 
men  here  have  relations  who  are  continually  trying 
to  get  in  to  see  them,  and  sit  about  for  hours 
waiting.  And  then  there  are  the  poor  old 
peasant  fathers  and  mothers  who  come  in  from 
the  country  and  never  can  be  made  to  understand, 
bless  their  dear  simple  hearts,  that  their  sons  are 
far  too  ill  to  eat  the  things  they  bring  for  them. 
Indeed,  it  is  only  when  a  soldier  is  probably 
going  to  die  that  his  people  are  sent  for  at  all. 
They  dress  so  quaintly,  and  have  such  sweet  apple 
complexions,  and  the  old  men  have  cross  lines  on 
their  necks  just  like  crocodile  leather,  and  they 
carry  bulging  string-bags.  And  the  old  women  cry 
and  the  old  men  try  to  be  practical  and  full  of 
common  sense  and  philosophy,  but  you  can  see 

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that  they're  all  equally  dazed  and  outraged  by 
it  all.  And  then  they  are  so  lost  when  it  is  time 
to  go.  They  have  no  idea  where  to  stay  and 
they  don't  want  to  leave  Paris  till  the  end. 
There  ought  to  be  a  society  to  provide  them  with 
lodgings,  but  poor  France  has  no  time  for  that. 

One  of  our  sights  for  visitors  here  is  a  dog.  A 
real  dog,  not  a  toutou  or  a  loulou,  but  a  great 
collie  kind  of  thing.  This  belongs  to  one  of  our 
wounded  men,  and  it  went  to  the  front  with  him. 
One  day  a  shell  buried  him,  together  with  another 
soldier  and  the  dog.  The  dog  was  only  lightly 
covered  and  scrambled  out,  and  then  it  began  to 
dig  out  its  master  and  the  other  soldier — but  its 
master  first — and  but  for  the  dog  they  would 
have  died.  So  now  it  is  a  hero,  and  all  our  rules 
are  broken  by  its  presence  here,  and  twice  a  day 
it  is  allowed  to  visit  its  master. 

I  suppose  you  know  that  dogs  have  been 
trained  to  find  the  wounded,  and  it  is  perfectly 
sweet,  I  was  told,  to  see  how  gentle  they  are  with 
them.  The  darlings ! — Your  loving  Vi. 


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CCVI 

MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

MY  DEAR  KATE, — Poor  Archibald  has  had  to 
give  up  his  fine  work  for  the  Economy  League. 
He  was  doing  so  well  there,  although,  of  course,  to 
one  so  artistic  as  he  is,  the  office  routine  was  very 
uncongenial;  but  still  he  stuck  to  it,  in  his  great 
keenness  to  help  at  this  critical  time.  And  then 
came  the  news  of  Lord  Upperton's  death  at  the 
front,  and  this  completely  unstrung  the  boy. 
You  see  Archibald  and  Lord  Upperton  were  con- 
temporaries at  Eton,  and  the  blow  was  a  very 
severe  one,  even  although  they  had  not  met  since. 
Archibald  has  now  gone  to  Scotland  in  the  hope 
of  forgetting  his  loss. 

This  war  is  relentless.  It  reaches  every  one 
sooner  or  later. — Your  affectionate  MAUDE 


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CCVII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

DEAR  B., — It  is  New  Year's  Day,  and  that 
makes  one  think  a  little:  at  least,  if  one  strayed, 
as  I  did  last  night,  to  St.  Paul's  churchyard,  and 
saw  how  the  strange  frivolous  crowd  there,  chiefly 
young  soldiers  with  their  arms  round  giggling 
girls,  suddenly  hushed  as  the  clock  began  to  strike 
the  hour  which  brought  in  this  1916.  For,  with 
all  contempt  for  anniversaries,  it  is  not  possible  to 
be  present  in  a  crowd  at  such  a  moment  without 
a  consciousness  of  something  fateful  happening. 
A  year  is  dead:  what  did  we  in  it"?  A  new  year 
has  begun:  what  has  it  in  store  for  us?  Shall 
we  even  be  still  alive  in  twelve  months'  time,  or 
cold  and  buried  and  out  of  it  all*?  That  is  a 
steadying  and  serious  enough  poser  anyway;  for 
we  are  all  like  the  old  studio-cleaner  in  a  beaded 
black  bonnet  whom  I  met  last  week  at  a  party 
for  Belgian  refugee  children,  who  explained  her 
presence  there  by  the  confession,  "I  love  life." 

But  whether  or  not  we  make  one  at  any  form 

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of  watch-night  gathering,  this  year  everything  is 
different.  This  is  a  New  Year's  Day  indeed! 
This  may  be  the  beginning  of  the  most  tre- 
mendous New  Year  in  all  our  experience. 

All  the  work  of  the  war  has  not  been  deadly, 
by  any  means.  We  owe  to  it  already  a  new 
England  and  a  much  finer  England  than  any 
living  eyes  have  seen.  War  can  be,  and  often  is, 
as  horrible  as  it  is  painted,  even  by  the  most 
powerful  and  sinister  brushes;  indeed,  it  is  more 
horrible  than  that,  as  soldiers  will  refuse  to  tell 
you.  But  war  is  a  purifier,  too,  and  an  ennobler. 
War  and  adversity  bind  men  together,  where  peace 
and  prosperity  can  isolate  them  in  self-indulgence. 
War — and  such  a  war  as  this — sets  before  every 
one  the  problem,  "What  can  I  do  for  my  coun- 
try*?" and  insists  on  an  answer;  whereas  during 
peace  there  is  no  compulsory  question-time.  That 
is  why  war  is  good :  it  can  be  the  surgical  opera- 
tion which  restores  health — only,  alas !  as  a  medi- 
cal friend  of  mine  pointed  out  when  I  used  the 
simile  to  him,  there  is  no. anaesthetic!  Every  En- 
glishman who  has  died  or  has  been  maimed  in  this 
conflict  has  suffered  not  merely  to  stem  the  tide 

[SHI 


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of  German  aggression,  but  to  help  towards  the 
rebuilding  of  England.  And  one  can  say  the 
same  of  the  French  and  Russian  victims,  too; 
they  are  saviours  of  their  country  in  a  double 
sense.  Every  man  still  active  in  service  is  lifting 
his  country's  banner  a  few  inches  higher. 

The  loss  of  our  men  is  irreparable.  Splendid 
young  men  cut  down  in  their  glory.  Nothing 
can  bring  them  back,  and  we  shall  always  be  the 
poorer  for  them.  But  that  apart,  the  war  has 
been  a  wonderful  thing  for  us.  It  has  revealed 
new  depths  of  fineness  in  so  many  people,  given 
so  many  people  their  chance,  brought  out  qualities 
of  sympathy  and  kindliness  that  might  have 
fossilised.  I  have  met  many  bereaved  parents 
and  relatives — far  too  many — and  they  have 
shown  their  grief  in  differing  ways;  but  all  have 
made  one  remark  in  common.  All  have  used  to 
me  some  such  words  as  these — "How  extraordi- 
narily kind  people  are!" 

And  another  thing  the  war  has  done  for  us  is 
to  cut  down  luxury.  And  even  more  do  I  thank 
it  for  giving  women  their  opportunity.  This  they 


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have  too  long  waited  for,  but  now  it  has  come 
they  have  most  admirably  risen  to  it. 

But  most  of  all  one  looks  to  this  war  to  end 
war — not,  of  course,  for  ever — for  we  are  not 
ready  for  such  advance  as  that  yet — but  for  many 
years.  For  our  time  at  any  rate. 

If  only  we  can  remember — all  of  us — the 
wickednesses  that  this  war  has  seen;  if  only 
the  wanton  destructivenesses  and  the  cruelties  to 
which  ambition  leads  can  never  be  lost  sight  of; 
only  then,  out  of  realisation  of  them  and  amaze- 
ment at  them,  should  come  a  new  and  wiser  era. 
There  must  be,  at  this  date  in  the  world's  history, 
some  saner  arbitrament  than  machine  guns,  liquid 
fire,  and  poisoned  gas,  or  let  the  curtain  fall;  let 
the  earth  become  as  tenantless  as  the  moon! 

If  every  man  who  has  fallen  has  brought  a 
wiser,  humaner  future  nearer,  he  has  not  fallen  in 
vain.  If  parents  can  feel  that  their  sons  fell  to 
this  end,  their  grief  may  be  turned  almost  to  joy. — 
Yours,  R.  H. 


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CCVIII 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

I  AM  going  to  be  very  bold  and  call  you 

DEAR  PORTIA  ! 

Are  you  very  cross  with  me"?  As  I  always 
think  of  you  as  Portia,  I  may  as  well  write 
it,  don't  you  think*?  So,  dear  Portia,  this  is 
just  a  brief  note  to  say  that  I  am  out  of  the 
trenches  for  a  few  days  and  so  far  have  not  had 
even  a  scratch.  This  is  glorious  luck,  and  I  ought 
to  touch  wood  when  I  write  it.  I  put  it  all  down 
to  carrying  your  photograph  about  with  me. 
Isn't  that  splendid?  That's  all  for  to-day. — 
Yours  very  sincerely,  TOBY  STARR 

P.S. — I  wonder  if  you  ever  think  of  me  as 
Toby? 

CCIX 

LADY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — Thank  Heaven  all  goes 
well  with  Toby,  but  a  letter  from  his  colonel  has 

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*  given  me  a  fright.  It  seems  that  the  other  day 
he  was  sitting  in  his  dug-out,  apparently  writing 
home,  when  a  shell  exploded  close  by.  It  did  not 
hurt  him,  but  it  seems  to  have  blown  a  photograph 
— mine,  I  suppose — that  he  must  have  had  on  his 
knee,  or  perhaps  in  his  letter  pad,  on  to  the  open 
ground  above  the  trench,  and  the  foolish  head- 
strong creature  must  needs  start  at  once  to 
retrieve  it.  Fortunately  there  is  a  sergeant  there 
who  has  a  way  with  him,  and  he  absolutely 
refused  to  let  the  boy  go — indeed,  pulled  him 
forcibly  back  and  more  or  less  sat  on  him  till 
nightfall,  when  they  went  for  it  together  and 
found  it,  still  at  the  risk  of  their  lives,  with  a 
pocket  torch.  But  there's  a  darling  son  for  you ! 
The  colonel  pledged  me  not  to  say  anything 
about  it.  He  says  that  Toby  is  wonderful  in 
spirits  and  pluck,  and  his  men  would  follow  him 
anywhere;  which  is  good  hearing  for  a  mother. 
God  send  him  safely  home  to  me! 

Some  day  I  suppose  he  will  fall  in  love  and  I 
shall  lose  him;  but  so  far  there  seems  to  be  no 
one,  thank  goodness! — Yours,  HELEN 


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ccx 

RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 

DEAR  SUTHERLAND, — You  would  find,  if  you 
came  over,  that  fatalism  is  largely  on  the  increase 
in  this  country,  and  how  can  you  wonder"?  Even 
simple  trustful  souls  like  my  mother  seem  to  have 
given  up  their  ancient  belief  in  a  personal  Care- 
taker. "It's  all  very  terrible  and  wicked  and  be- 
yond all  comprehension,"  has  become  their  half- 
dazed  attitude.  "But  what  will  be,  will  be."  It 
is  not  the  war  alone  that  has  done  it,  but  in  par- 
ticular the  Zeppelins.  All  their  lives  these  credu- 
lous hopeful  people  have  been  looking  up  for 
blessings ;  and  now  the  sky  has  played  them  false, 
and  instead  of  heaven's  gentle  dews  come  in- 
flammatory and  explosive  bombs,  discharged  by 
fellow-creatures. 

By  the  way,  what  amazing  recollections  some 
of  the  Germans  who  survive  will  carry  down  to 
old  age.  Fancy  the  old  fellows  sitting  in  their 
arm-chairs  (or,  more  probably,  armed  chairs)  with 
their  innocent  grandchildren  around  their  knees, 

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'•telling  proudly  about  dropping  bombs  on  London 
from  Zeppelins;  hiding  bombs  in  the  form  of 
pieces  of  coal  packed  with  high  explosives  in  the 
bunkers  of  the  Bulwark  and  other  ships;  sinking 
the  Lusitania;  setting  fire  to  the  Canadian  Houses 
of  Parliament;  shooting  Miss  Cavell!  And  the 
strange  thing  is  that,  on  the  plea  that  might  is 
right,  and  the  advancement  of  one's  country 
comes  before  all,  and  soldiers  and  sailors  must 
obey  orders,  these  deeds  are  probably  leaving  no 
scar  on  the  conscience. 

Nothing  can  get  decency  into  some  people. 
If  ever  there  was  a  time  for  not  spending  much 
money  on  theatrical  enterprises,  but  letting  the 
authors  and  the  performers  do  the  entertaining,  it 
is  now.  And  many  managers  with  a  sense  of 
decency  know  this.  But  in  other  quarters  the 
same  desperate  competition  in  lavish  display  goes 
on.  The  excuse  is,  of  course,  that  our  soldiers 
like  it;  but  my  experience  is  that  our  soldiers  are 
equally  happy,  if  not  more  so,  where  there  is  less 
spectacle  and  more  fun.  At  a  recent  first  night 
I  was  told  the  flowers  handed  over  the  footlights 
must  have  cost  hundreds  of  pounds.  Some  day 


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we  shall  have  to  take  decency  in  hand  and  try  and 
teach  it  in  schools,  and  then  perhaps,  during  a 
terrible  national  crisis  such  as  this,  a  grain  or  two 
of  it  may  get  even  into  the  stage-struck;  or,  if 
not,  some  actress  of  the  better  kind  may  issue  a 
notice  stating  that  no  flowers  are  to  be  given  her 
at  all,  but  if  her  admirers  have  so  much  cash  to 
spare  they  can  apply  it  to  some  worthy  end, 
suggested  by  herself.  Is  that  too  fantastically 
Utopian  a  notion*? 

Now  that  conscription  has  come  in,  the  mysteries 
of  life  have  been  increased  by  one  tremendous 
one — How  do  so  many  apparently  eligible  men 
escape*?  I  see  on  all  sides  young  fellows  with 
exemptions.  They  ought  to  have  placards  on 
them  explaining  why. 

What  weather  we  are  having!  Poor  human 
nature — not  much  is  done  for  it.  It  makes  me 
blush  to  see  how  pathetically  happy  people  can  be 
just  because  the  sun  comes  out;  and  we  surely 
are  entitled  to  that.  There  are  two  things  which 
no  one  who  has  not  a  very  robust  faith  should 
ever  permit  himself  to  see.  One  is  a  ruined 


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•  hay  crop.     The  other  is  his  fellow-bathers  in  a 
Turkish  bath. — Yours,  R.  H. 

CCXI 

MRS.  PARK-STANMER  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR, — I  have  had  such  an  extraordinary 
adventure.  When  I  was  in  London  last  week  I 
went  to  the  Palace,  and  I  noticed  that  a  tall  man 
in  uniform  was  looking  my  way  a  good  deal. 
Still,  I  didn't  think  anything  of  it,  so  many  men 
look  at  me.  I  ought  to  say  I  was  wearing  a 
rather  striking  green  Chinese  wrap  with  purple 
and  red  embroidery.  Well,  what  do  you  think1? 
On  the  next  morning  but  one,  in  the  Personal 
Column  of  the  Times,  I  read  this : 

"PALACE  THEATRE,  Monday  night.  You  were 
wearing  a  green  shawl  with  flowers  worked  on  it 
and  you  looked  more  than  once  at  officer  in  uni- 
form same  row  of  stalls.  Please  comfort  him  by 
writing  to  Box  36." 

I  have  of  course  heard  of  this  kind  of  thing 
happening  to  other  women,  but  I  never  expected 
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it  for  myself,  and  it's  a  mercy  that  Horace  never 
notices  what  I  am  wearing  or  he  might  be  sus- 
picious. 

At  first  I  didn't  mean  to  reply,  but  then  I 
thought  how  cruel  that  would  be,  with  this  poor 
lonely  fellow  on  leave,  and  perhaps  without  a 
friend  in  London,  so  I  wrote  very  discreetly,  and 
to-day  his  answer  has  come  imploring  me  to 
meet  him  in  town  to-morrow.  Of  course  I  shan't 
go,  but  isn't  it  romantic*?  I  can't  think  what 
there  is  about  me  that  so  marks  me  out. — Your 
devoted  AMABEL 


CCXII 
MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

DEAR  KATE, — We  are  in  great  distress.  Dear 
Archibald,  as  you  know,  ever  since  the  beginning 
of  the  war,  has  been  anxious  to  do  his  bit,  and 
visited  our  medical  man  on  the  subject  more  than 
once,  but  was  always  assured  by  him  that  he  was 
not  fitted  to  be  a  soldier.  And  now  that  con- 
scription has  come  in  the  military  doctor  pretends 

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-that  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  him,  and  he 
must  join  up.  This  is,  of  course,  ridiculous,  for 
the  poor  boy  is  far  from  strong,  as  I,  being  his 
mother,  know.  I  have  told  the  doctor  this,  but 
he  won't  believe  me,  and,  in  fact,  has  been  very 
brusque  about  it.  The  drill  and  fatiguing  life 
will,  I  am  sure,  be  fatal,  and  I  am  distracted  at  the 
thought,  while  Archibald  has  become  moody  and 
nervy  and  anything  but  his  usual  gay  self.  Do 
advise  me  what  to  do?  Mr.  Haven  was  not  very 
kind  to  Archibald  when  we  approached  him.  Do 
you  think  your  sister's  husband,  Sir  Vincent  Starr, 
could  do  anything?  Or  ought  I  to  present  a 
petition  to  the  King1?  Apart  from  Archibald's 
inherent  weakness,  have  they  any  right  to  take 
a  widow's  only  son? — Yours  in  great  distress, 

MAUDE 


CCXIII 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

DEAR  MOTHER., — I  had  such  a  treat  yesterday, 
for  who  should  suddenly  appear  at  the  hospital 

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but  Uncle  Vincent,  in  Paris  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
he  took  me  out  to  dinner,  and  told  me  such  news 
of  you  all  as  Aunt  Helen  had  sent  him.  Toby 
seems  to  be  a  great  success  as  a  soldier,  and 
Uncle  Vincent  now  wants  him  to  stick  to  the 
army  as  a  profession,  as  he  is  certain  of  promotion 
directly.  We  went  to  a  favourite  restaurant  of 
Uncle  Vincent's,  but  it  was  very  sad.  Nearly 
every  one  he  knew  had  gone  to  the  war.  "Where 
is  Xavier1?"  he  asked.  They  said  he  was  fighting 
and  had  not  been  heard  of  for  some  time.  "Where 
is  the  vestiaire  with  the  red  hair*?"  "II  est 
blesse."  "Where  is  the  sommelier'?"  "II  cst 
mort." 

The  streets  are  full  of  black,  too.  I  feel  so 
sorry  for  them  all. 

I  saw  Uncle  Vincent  off,  and  we  watched  a 
train  full  of  soldiers  go  off  first.  The  wives  and 
mothers  and  sweethearts  were  so  different  from 
those  one  used  to  see  at  Waterloo.  There  a  kind 
of  desperate  high  spirits  was  the  thing,  I  remem- 
ber; but  of  course  it  may  be  different  now.  And 
not  a  few  of  the  poor  things  had  been  drinking. 
But  the  women  here  are  so  quiet  and  determined, 

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and  they  all  have  something  sensible  for  the  sol- 
dier to  take  with  him — a  bundle  of  things  to  eat, 
fruit  and  so  forth,  and  it  is  so  funny  to  see  every 
man  with  a  yard  or  so  of  bread  to  munch  in  the 
train.  It  isn't  till  the  train  has  gone  that  the 
women  cry. 

The  soldiers  are  so  philosophic  too — in  that  kind 
of  fatalistic  way  that  one  sees  everywhere  over 
here  now.  Sometimes  they  get  to  the  station, 
after  their  few  days'  leave,  only  to  find  that  the 
train  can't  start  for  two  or  three  hours.  But 
having  made  all  their  preparations  to  go  then  they 
accept  the  delay  and  settle  down  quite  naturally 
on  the  steps  and  the  floor,  in  little  groups,  eating, 
talking,  playing  cards.  French  soldiers  seem  to 
be  able  to  play  cards  anywhere. 

There  has  been  tremendous  excitement  here 
to-day  because  Dubosc,  the  funniest  of  the  men  in 
my  ward,  whose  leg  was  shot  away,  has  got  a 
new  one.  It  came  this  morning — a  wooden  one 
— and  Dubosc  has  been  as  proud  as  a  dog  with 
two  tails  and  has  made  a  complete  tour  of  the 
hospital  to  show  it  off.  I  wish  a  movie  picture 
could  be  taken  of  him,  so  that  the  kind  Americans 

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who  subscribed  for  the  leg  (one  of  a  great  con- 
signment) might  see  his  joy. — Your  loving 

Vi. 


CCXIV 

GEORGE  WISTON  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

DEAR  RICHARD, — I  suppose  that  in  a  sense 
we  are  nearer  the  end  of  the  war;  but  what  good 
will  that  do  us!  Look  at  our  expenditure. 
Look  at  our  losses.  And  then  think  of  the 
problems  that  must  follow,  whatever  peace  we 
have,  whether  a  sound  one  or  only  a  patched-up 
one.  To  begin  with,  we  shall  have  some  dis- 
gusting Mafficking.  That,  however,  is  secondary. 
After  that  there  will  be  a  period  of  intense  de- 
pression, during  which  the  great  mass  of  people 
are  realising  to  their  surprise  and  mortification 
that  the  millennium  is  not  instant.  Then  thert 
will  be  the  gradual  disbanding  of  a  large  part  of 
the  army,  and  the  reluctance  or  inability  of  the 
men  who  have  tasted  blood,  so  to  speak,  to  resume 
their  old  tame  lives.  These  will  have  to  be  dealt 

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'with,  as  well  as  the  women,  the  substitutes  for  the 
more  amenable  ones,  thrown  thus  out  of  employ- 
ment. And  all  the  while  a  very  high  rate  of 
taxation  will  have  to  be  maintained,  for  normal 
expenditure  cannot  return  for  years  and  years. 

Among  other  troubles  for  Parliament  will  be 
Ireland  and  the  Insurance  Act.  No,  it  is  not  the 
declaration  of  Peace  that  is  going  to  smooth  our 
pillows. 

I  am  saying  all  this  in  a  letter  to  the  papers 
signed  "Sombre  Avenir." — Yours  cordially, 

GEORGE  WISTON 

ccxv 

MRS.  PARK-STANMER  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  HELEN, — I  went  to  London  after  all,  as 
it  seemed  only  kindness  to  do  so,  but  I  wish 
I  hadn't.  He  was  a  most  frightening  man,  and 
I  have  been  all  shaken  with  nervousness  ever 
since.  Not  a  gentleman  at  all.  I  assure  you 
I  was  quite  glad  to  get  back  to  dear  old  Horace, 
who  really  has  been  rather  nice  lately  and  has 

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given  me  the  loveliest  fur  coat.  I  am  thinking 
seriously  of  taking  up  my  music  again. — Yours 
ever,  AMABEL. 

CCXVI 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHA.N 

MY  DEAR  BARCLAY, — To-day  I  had,  in 
common  with  millions  of  others,  the  newspaper 
shock  of  my  life.  Turning,  just  after  lunch,  from 
a  byway  into  a  highway,  I  met  a  boy  with  the 
placard : 

DEATH  OF 

LORD  KITCHENER 

What  a  blow!  The  word  Death  on  a  placard, 
even  now,  when  the  scythe  has  been  changed  to 
a  mowing  machine,  is  always  startling.  But  the 
death  of  that  man — that  new  personification  of 
England's  dogged  spirit  and,  as  I  choose  to 
believe,  inevitability ! 

For  it  is  wonderful  how  Lord  Kitchener  had 
changed,  in  the  public  mind,  from  the  stern,  aloof 

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symbol  of  military  caste  to  the  father  of  his 
country.  Recent  portraits  had  shown  him  ageing 
very  graciously,  with  a  suggestion  of  the  citizen 
in  his  increasing  bulk,  and  often  a  smile. 

Well,  his  work  was  largely  done,  for  his  new 
armies  are  in  being.  No  one  else  could  have  got 
them.  But  one  would  have  wished  for  him  so 
easy  a  declining  day  among  his  little  bits  of 
Ming  in  his  Kentish  retreat. 

As  it  is,  what  a  fine  death !  It  is  given  to  few 
Secretaries  for  War  to  die  like  soldiers.  I  hope 
the  body  will  not  be  recovered.  I  like  to  think  of 
him  with  the  whole  ocean  for  his  grave,  and  no 
undertakers  or  descriptive  writers  intervening. 
And  that  reminds  me  that  to-morrow  will  provide 
the  delectable  spectacle  of  those  papers  who  lost 
no  opportunity  overtly  or  covertly  of  belittling 
the  great  man,  doing  all  they  can  to  persuade 
their  readers  that  they  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 

Meanwhile  things  will  go  on  towards  our 
victory  with  the  same  steadiness :  for  with  all  her 
superficial  faults  England  is  a  very  great  country. 
She  is  full  of  the  stuff. — Yours,  R.  H. 

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CCXVII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  DR.  SUTHERLAND 

MY  DEAR  SUTHERLAND, — Have  you  noticed 
— but  of  course  you  have — how  we  grow  into 
knowledge?  Every  year  of  life  brings  its  dis- 
coveries; and  it  is  never  time  to  die.  Even  if 
you  lived  to  be  a  hundred  you  would  still  be 
deficient  in  information:  you  would  not  know 
how  things  struck  you  at  a  hundred  and  one. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  believe  that  by  the  time  a 
man  is  five-and-forty  he  has  thought  all  his  best 
thoughts.  After  that  he  merely  thinks  them 
again,  revises  them,  or — and  that  is  the  tragedy 
— cools  them. 

Personally,  I  don't  want  to  die  for  three  or  four 
years  after  Peace  is  declared  and  the  world  has 
had  a  chance  to  recover.  We  shall  all  be  wanted 
then;  and  especially  those  of  us  who  have 
memories,  to  remind  those  who  have  not — whose 
passion  is  to  forget  and  forgive — of  the  monstrous 
things  that  Germany  has  done.  It  is  this  tolerant 
school  of  which  I  am  afraid ;  for  if  they  get  their 

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way,  the  whole  trouble  will  begin  over  again. 
Snakes  must  be  killed,  not  scotched. 

I  heard  an  odd  thing  to-day.  I  met  Cross- 
thwaite  the  publisher,  and  he  told  me  that  in  the 
need  for  copper  there  is  quite  a  good  price  for 
engraved  plates,  and  theirs  have  been  weeded 
out  for  the  munitioners.  A  source  of  revenue 
which  had  never  been  contemplated!  Among 
those  which  had  been  despatched  to  Mr.  Lloyd 
George's  merry  men  and  maidens  were  those  of 
a  huge  illustrated  Bible  which  his  firm  brought  out 
years  ago.  There  seems  to  be  some  irony  here. 
The  Bible  has  often,  in  the  stories,  stopped  the 
bullet;  but  it  now  supplies  it.— Yours,  R.  H. 

CCXVIII 
MRS.  CLAYTON-MILLS  TO  MRS.  WISTON 

DEAR  KATE, — My  troubles  for  the  moment 
are  over-— in  a  most  curious  and,  I  am  sure, 
providential  way.  I  will  tell  you  about  it. 

Last  evening  I  had  a  terrible  shock.  I  was 
sitting  at  the  window,  writing  to  Archibald,  when 
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I  saw  an  ambulance  drive  up  to  the  door.  My 
heart  stood  still.  Archibald  is  dead!  I  said  to 
myself.  Although  unable  to  bear  the  sight,  I 
watched  them  bear  out  a  body  and  carry  it  into  the 
house.  How  I  got  downstairs  I  cannot  say,  but 
I  found  myself  in  the  hall  somehow,  and  steeled 
myself  to  hear  the  worst,  when  all  my  grief  was 
turned  to  joy,  for  it  seems  that  the  poor  boy  had 
sprained  his  ankle  at  his  very  last  game  of  golf 
before  he  joined  up,  and  now  he  can't  begin  for  I 
don't  know  how  long.  He  is  very  brave  about  it, 
although  bitterly  disappointed,  for,  all  unknown 
to  me,  he  had  set  his  heart  on  being  a  soldier,  and 
Was  really  keen  to  make  a  start  and  rise  to  a  high 
rank.  Directly  he  can  move  about  at  all  I  shall 
take  him  to  Cornwall. — Your  greatly  relieved 

MAUDE 


CCXIX 

VIOLET  LASTWAYS  TO  LADY  STARR 

DEAR  AUNT  HELEN, — As  I  have  time,  let  me 
tell  you  about  a  boy  who  was  in  my  ward  here 

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and  is  now  reforme.  He  is  in  a  civil  job  in  Paris, 
but  he  comes  out  to  see  us  pretty  often,  and 
always  brings  me  a  bunch  of  flowers,  although  I 
am  sure  he  has  little  enough  money.  By  trade  he 
is  a  plumber,  but  you  can't  plumb  with  only  one 
arm,  so  now  he  has  become  a  messenger.  Charles 
is  only  twenty-two,  and  he  is  very  shy  and  quiet, 
but  his  eyes  follow  you  all  the  time.  They  have 
very  big  black  pupils.  He  told  me  all  about 
losing  his  arm,  which  was  like  this.  At  the  front 
he  was  a  despatch  bearer.  A  despatch — a  pli,  as 
they  call  it — would  be  given  him  either  back  of 
the  lines  to  deliver  in  the  trenches,  or  in  the 
trenches  to  deliver  back  of , the  lines,  and  in  order 
to  get  there,  if  fighting  was  in  progress,  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  crawl  for  perhaps  one  or  two 
kilometres  on  his  stomach.  On  a  certain  day  of 
heavy  fighting,  Charles,  in  his  trench,  was  handed 
a  pH  for  the  commanding  officer,  who  was  a 
kilometre  or  so  behind,  and  this  he  placed  in  his 
satchel  and  then  began  the  terrible  journey. 

This  being  a  terrific  day — as  a  matter  of  fact 
it  was  during  the  famous  battle  of  the  Maison  du 
Passeur,  when  the  French  and  Germans  were 

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losing  and  retaking  trenches  for  hours — there  was 
so  much  firing  that  he  had  to  crawl  all  the  way, 
and  as  he  did  so  he  came  suddenly  upon  the 
body  of  the  commanding  officer  dead  in  a  carrot- 
field. 

To  Charles's  mind  there  was  then  only  one 
thing  to  do,  and  that  was,  as  he  had  been  unable 
to  deliver  the  message,  to  take  it  back  to  the 
sender.  He  therefore  started  on  the  return 
journey,  and  was  only  a  few  yards  from  his 
trench,  and  still  had  not  been  hit,  when  he  found 
a  wounded  officer  on  the  ground.  Standing  up 
and  throwing  aside  all  precautions,  Charles  got 
him  as  well  as  he  could  on  his  back,  and  half- 
carried,  half -supported  him  to  the  trench,  and 
was  at  once  away  again  with  his  despatch.  It 
was  at  this  moment  that  an  exploding  shell 
hurled  the  satchel  from  his  hands  and  flung  it  on 
the  open  ground  between  the  French  trenches  and 
the  enemy's,  which  were  separated  only  by  a  few 
yards.  Charles  knew  that  at  any  cost  the  des- 
patch must  be  prevented  from  falling  into  German 
hands,  and  so  he  got  out  of  the  trench  to  bring 

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k  back,  and  while  he  was  returning  with  it  a  shell 
broke  his  arm  to  pieces. 

That  is  all  he  remembers;  but  he  must  have 
rolled  back  to  the  bottom  of  the  trench,  where  he 
was  found,  two  days  later,  still  clutching  the 
satchel.  And  after  that,  although  he  remembers 
the  coffee  he  was  given  to  drink,  all  is  a  haze 
until  he  came  fully  to  himself  in  hospital  and 
found  that  he  no  longer  had  a  right  arm. 

He  was  a  long  time  getting  well,  and  then 
he  was  sent  for  to  the  Invalides  and  was  given 
both  the  Medaille  Militaire  and  the  Croix  de 
Guerre. 

Naturally  he  is  very  proud  of  them,  although 
he  is  so  shy;  but  there  is  a  drop  of  bitter  in  his 
jup,  apart  altogether  from  his  lost  arm,  and  that 
really  is  the  point  of  this  long  story.  For,  being 
now  a  civilian  again,  he  has  to  wear  civilian 
clothes,  and  this  means  that  when,  in  the  street, 
another  soldier,  even  General  Joffre  himself,  sees 
his  medals  and  salutes  him,  as  every  officer  is 
proud  to  do,  poor  Charles  may  not  salute  back. 
It  is  this  that  hurts  him  most! — Your  loving 

Vi. 
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ccxx 

TOBY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

[Telegram] 

HAVE  short  leave.     Expect  me  Thursday. 

STARR 

CCXXI 

LADY  STARR  TO  RICHARD  HAVEN 

MY  DEAR  RICHARD, — Alas !  I  am  a  very  foolish 
woman.  That  was  not  my  photograph  at  all  that 
Toby  wanted  to  risk  his  life  in  retrieving.  It  was 
a  photograph  of  a  Miss  Portia  Grey,  and  the  boy 
is  head  over  heels  in  love  with  her,  and  I  must 
confess  that  I  like  her  too.  It  seems  that  they 
met  over  a  foolish  Lonely  Sub  advertisement  he 
put  in  the  Times  for  a  joke  and  then  repented  of, 
but  the  minx  had  written  to  him  and  the  mischief 
was  done.  Her  father  is  Lucius  Grey,  the  artist, 
who  paints  those  quaint  pre-Raphaelite  things. 
Of  course  they  won't  marry  yet,  and  Vincent  will 

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have  something  to  say  about  it  too;  but  I  see  the 
Finger  of  Fate. 

My  Toby  has  gone  for  ever.  The  new  Toby 
(judging  by  the  few  glimpses  I  got  of  him  during 
his  seventy-two  hours)  is  much  bigger  and  broader, 
and  he  has  a  fine  confident  look,  and  a  really 
respectable  moustache,  and  a  quiet  assured  smile 
underneath  it.  I  suppose  I  stand  somewhere  in 
his  affections,  but  he  so  obviously  belongs  to  the 
Portia  person  that  I  must  begin  to  accept  the 
inevitable  and  cultivate  those  arts  which  assuage 
the  pangs  of  childlessness.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  am  so  glad  that  Portia  is  nice  that  really  I  am 
more  philosophic  than  I  sound.  These  things 
have  to  be.  But  it  is  badly  managed :  just  when 
one's  children  reach  the  age  when  they  might  be 
not  only  companions  but  props,  they  fall  to 
strangers. 

He  expressed  himself  as  grieved  not  to  have  a 
minute  for  you.  You  see,  the  girl  lives  at  Ash- 
ford,  and  seeing  her,  fixing  things  up  with  her  pre- 
Raphaelite  father,  and  bringing  her  here  and  tak- 
ing her  back  again,  on  that  railway,  filled  his  leave. 

Such  is  life. — Yours,  HELEN 

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CCXXII 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  LADY  STARR 

MY  DEAR  HELEN, — Your  news  is  amusing 
and  welcome.  I  am  continually  hearing  of 
parents  who  are  quite  certain  that  their  children's 
hearts  are  free  and  who  are  invariably  wrong. 
Were  I  a  father  I  am  sure  I  should  never  be  so 
blundering.  But  it  is  good  news.  Let  all  young 
people  marry,  say  I,  for  even  if  they  make  a 
mistake  they  will  have  had  a  little  pure  happiness 
en  route  to  the  awakening;  and,  since  man  is 
born  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward,  that  is 
a  great  thing. 

Toby,  however,  is  of  the  simpler  kind  and 
should  be  happy  much  longer,  if  not  for  ever. 
Of  Portia  I  know  nothing,  but  guess  her  to  be  all 
right:  that  is  to  say,  his  sort. 

Please  the  Sisters  who  spin  the  web  of  oui 
destiny,  and  do  it  often  so  ill,  that  he  comes 
through  this  barbarous  business  to  hold  her  in 
his  arms  and  some  day  be  surrounded  by  little 
twinkling  Starrs  of  greater  and  lesser  magnitude ! 

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There  cannot  be  too  many  children.  And  if  you 
can  lure  his  enchantress  to  London  I  will  give 
you  both  a  pre-war  lunch,  and  I  am  sure  I  am 
entitled  to  one  such  orgy,  having  smoked  no 
cigars  nor  drunk  any  wine  for  months.  Across 
the  table  shall  I  get  to  know  her. 

I  heard  an  incredible  thing  to-day  from  little 
Harry  Lancaster.  You  know  that  Brighton  is 
a  great  place  for  wounded  soldiers — in  fact  their 
blue  uniform  has  given  a  new  colour  to  the 
promenade  there.  Well,  it  seems  that  among 
the  gilt-edged  visitors  to  Brighton  lately  was  one 
man  who  thought  it  a  great  mistake  that  in  a 
town  such  as  Brighton,  where  people  go  to  be 
happy,  wounded  men  should  be  allowed!  This 
is  a  positive  fact.  Harry,  I  am  glad  to  say,  was 
there  to  answer  him  fittingly.  And  what  an 
attitude  to  the  war  it  displays,  and  how  far  some 
people,  in  this  the  ending  of  the  second  year,  still 
are  from  appreciating  what  is  really  happening 
and  how  grateful  we  ought  to  be  to  these  same 
promenade  kill-joys!  By  the  way,  I  wonder  what 
are  the  feelings  of  the  conscientious  objector  as  he 
gazes  upon  these  poor  but  cheery  one-legged  and 

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one-armed  and  blinded  soldiers.  I  do  not  envy 
him  his  exclusion  from  any  community  with 
them. — Yours,  R. 

CCXXIII 
MRS.  HAVEN  TO  MRS.  LASTWAYS 

MY  DEAR  JOAN, — What  do  you  think"? 
Ellen,  the  silly  girl,  has  engaged  herself  to  a  pris- 
oner in  Holland  to  whom  she  has  been  writing.  I 
think  women  have  gone  mad.  The  very  idea  of 
a  soldier  seems  to  turn  their  heads,  and  this  is  a 
man  that  Ellen  has  never  seen.  I  am  very  cross 
with  her. 

We  had  to  have  "Hi,  Sir,"  our  poor  dachshund, 
put  away  this  morning.  He  has  been  getting 
more  and  more  blind,  and  that  made  him  snappy 
and  dangerous,  so  we  sent  him  to  the  vet.  Tipper 
took  him  and  brought  back  the  news:  "He  went 
off  like  a  snuff."  I  was  thinking  about  it  all 
yesterday,  after  we  decided,  and  most  of  the  night. 
It  seems  so  awful  to  arrange  for  the  death  of  any 
living  thing. 

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I  hope  you  have  got  good  news  of  Violet. — 
Your  loving  MOTHER 

CCXXIV 
RICHARD  HAVEN  TO  BARCLAY  VAUGHAN 

MY  DEAR  B., — My  nephew  Toby  Starr,  who  is 
a  second  lieutenant  at  the  Front,  has  sent  me  an 
astonishing  chorus,  or  litany,  or  what  you  will, 
that  the  men  are  singing.  The  Germans  hear  them, 
of  course,  but  I  doubt  if  it  is  sent  across  No 
Man's  Land  as  an  intimation  of  our  own  eventual 
bliss  and  the  Germans'  certain  loss  of  it.  I  should 
guess  not.  That  is  not  the  British  soldier's  way, 
his  heart  being  far  more  in  conquering  the  enemy 
than  in  criticising  him.  Indeed,  I  find  such  men 
from  the  Front  as  I  chance  to  meet  very  loth  to 
talk  about  the  Hun  at  all  and  rarely  voluble  as  to 
his  iniquities.  Rather  do  they  emphasise  his 
merits  as  a  fighter. 

I  should  guess  that  this  odd  triumphant  credo, 
set  to  an  old  music-hall  tune  and  springing  up 
and  spreading  probably  as  mysteriously  as  a  f olk- 
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song,  is  not  a  defiance  of  the  earthly  foe,  but 
merely  one  more  manifestation  of  the  courageous 
levity  that  this  war  has  drawn  forth.  It  is 
Tommy's  light  surface  way  of  accepting  death. 
To  do  even  so  tremendous  a  thing  as  that  without 
a  touch  of  humour  would  not  be  playing  the  game. 
We  get  therefore  trench  after  trench  filled  with 
men  who  at  any  moment  may  be  blown  to  atoms 
singing  these  astonishing  words: 

The  Bells  of  Hell  go  ting-a-ling-a-ling 

For  you  but  not  for  me. 
For  me  the  angels  sing-a-ling-a-ling 

They've  got  the  goods  for  me. 
O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting-a-ling-a-ling  ? 

O  Grave,  thy  victoree  ? 
The  Bells  of  Hell  go  ting-a-ling-a-ling 

For  you  but  not  for  me ! 

Isn't  that  wonderful^  and  incredible1?  It  is  not 
exactly  religion,  and  yet  it  is  religion.  Fatalism 
with  faith.  Assurance  with  disdain.  The  very 
aristocracy  of  confidence.  And  only  the  new 
British  soldier  could  sing  it. 

But,  I  say,  what  material !  I  believe  that  the 
singing  soldier  is  always  to  be  dreaded,  but  when 
he  sings  things  like  that  .  .  .  ! 

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*  So  the  Great  Push  has  come  at  last !  May  it 
succeed  and  bring  the  end  of  all  this  monstrous 
stupidity  nearer!  Early  in  the  war  a  French 
artist,  mobilise,  speaking  of  the  British  troops,  said 
to  me  that  they  knew  better  how  to  die  than  how 
to  kill.  I  fancy  this  is  no  longer  true.  Much 
has  intervened  since  then  to  steel  their  kind 
hearts. 

Even  as  I  write,  my  nephew  is  in  it — and  may 
be  out  of  it.  Any  moment  may  bring  his  mother 
the  War  Office  telegram  which  so  many  homes  are 
so  constantly  dreading.  Yet  somehow  I  feel  that 
he  will  come  through. — Yours,  R.  H. 

ccxxv 

LiEUT.-CoL.  MORTON  TO  LADY  STARR 

[Telegram] 

TOBY  recommended  for  V.C.  Many  con- 
gratulations. Sending  full  particulars. 

MORTON 

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CCXXVI 

LADY  STARR  TO  PORTIA  GREY 

MY  DEAR  PORTIA, — I  send  you  a  telegram 
I  had  to-day  from  Toby's  colonel.  It's  proud 
women  we  should  be,  you  and  I. — Yours  affection- 
ately, HELEN  STARR 

CCXXVII 

[FROM  THE  DAILY  PAPER] 
FIVE  VICTORIA  CROSS  HEROES 

His  Majesty  the  King  has  been  graciously 
pleased  to  award  the  Victoria  Cross  to  the  follow- 
ing officer,  non-commissioned  officers,  and  men. 

2nd  Lieut.  Toby  Starr,   8th   (Service)   Bn.  R. 
Southshire  Regt. 

For  most  conspicuous  bravery.  When  the 
enemy  exploded  a  mine,  Lieutenant  Starr  and 
many  men  of  two  platoons  were  blown  into  the  air. 

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But,  though  much  shaken,  he  at  once  organised  a 
party  with  a  machine  gun  to  mow  down  the  on- 
coming enemy,  and  having  effectively  repulsed 
them  and  stopped  the  advance,  he  was  instru- 
mental in  rescuing,  although  under  fire,  a  number 
of  his  own  buried  men  and  bringing  them  into 
safety,  carrying  several  unaided  in  his  arms. 

Through  all  this  perilous  work  Lieutenant  Starr 
remained  unhurt. 


THE  END 


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